Depression by Lucie Winborne

You can call it clinical
and study it like a chemical

but I call it a train you didn’t
buy a ticket for. Everyone rides
at least once, some have a return pass.

Outside the closed windows
faces blur by with
mouths of encouragement

but their words are flattened pennies
on the tracks.

Blame my induction
on timing or bad genes

the broken circuitry of my brain
on too much sugar in my youth

But stop your panaceas in your throat
before I drown them like kittens.

Better you should punch a hole in my ticket,
hand it back. Say,
Ride over.

Lucie is an administrative assistant in Central Florida who writes poetry with the intention of capturing a moment in time. Her work has appeared in publications such as Autumn Sky Poetry, The Writing Disorder, The Orlando Sentinel, and Revelry, among others. She is currently seeking a publisher for her first chapbook.

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