Delicious brownie thing with chocolate mousse
and the richest damn frosting, sticking gallantly,
and smoothly lunging in, I feel that joyous murmur
welling up, not gurgling, saying, “mmm, soooo good.”
I’m in Hell.
Sitting in a room full of people,
alone and by myself,
hoping I did not praise the dessert aloud,
and I think I wish that people would think of me
like a chocolate dessert, like I think of this dessert
because that is how I think of many people,
especially when my depression isn’t choking
all of my spirit, but I am alone because not one
of hundreds would choose to be around me,
making me even more tortuous than I normally would be.
God, please make me a sweet dessert, and let people
see through all of the detritus of a ruined soul
with a broken spirit who sits alone thinking
he surely doesn’t deserve another desert.
And I go somewhere where the others don’t go
so that it won’t look like I am an intolerable
human being, but my self-hate is rich.
If one could get through, there is marvelous joy,
but I sit here and cry at my horrible odds.