Stumbling Through Self-Care

In the emptiness where depression sleeps,
I washed my grief down with a chianti-dark river, 
its bitter currents singing me into numbness. 
I raised a toast to the starless sky, my glass 
a mausoleum of denial, reflecting  
only what I wished to see. 

I wore the music like a second skin, 
let it vibrate through my bones, 
tried to shake the sadness away, 
dancing with the shadows of dust left behind. 

I sought solace in the twist of my curls, 
hoping my own reflection would morph  
into someone I don’t remember.  

What few coins I had, I tossed in the air,  
wishing on each as it fell, until the balance ran crimson,
debt blooming like roses on my credit card. 

I unknotted love from my life,  
hoping for solace in solitude, 
believing that a lonely heart heals quicker. 
It still clung to me: a bitter cologne in the summer heat.
Then I outran the sun, crossing borders,  
but melancholy claimed me in every time zone. 

In the circles of busyness, I ran, 
whirling dervish, spinning out of control, 
became as dizzying as what was within— 
my world, a blur.