how low can we go?

The low ebb is descending
 A rhyme from a pop song
 Reverberates the background
 It’s melodic chant daring her lower
 Tiredness all around    no respite
 Sleep deprivation increases the tome
 No good news    war    sickness
 No puppy dog tales   only poverty
 Take it to the chorus    litany of woe
 Shutters coming down
 Closing up shop
 Humanity good bye
 Sign off   gone for a while
 I’ll be in bed
 Rhythmic clapping
 Stomping feet
 C’mon Eileen
 Darkness surrounds
 No white light
 Judgement descends       how long to stay
 Am I ready to depart or  interlude
 Difficult decision in trance-like mode
 Get it wrong       county homeward bound
 Heaven can wait let’s breathe      in


This was written some time ago, based on the song “how low can you go” which in turn was about that game where you shimmy under a stick, going lower and lower. I thought it interesting to have such an upbeat tune in my head whilst writing about my friend’s depression. She would descend into the pit for weeks, not opening even her curtains, not getting dressed or washed, eating very little and scared of being cast into the local mental institution. She always thought she would die in such a place so would drag herself up out of the pit before the “sheriff” turned up at her door. She may well have been a prophetess, as she did indeed die in the county home of natural causes at an appropriate age, but what she was most scared of, of entering the home, when the time came for her to pack she actually looked quite excited about the prospect. She was a lovely quiet, shy soul and I miss her sometimes when the weather turns grey and I wonder “How low could I go?”

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