I’m used to someone else controlling
the temperature in buildings.
Depression creates a fuchsia crystal
around the mind.
Even when I walk into a room
too hot for reason, I leave my sweater on.
The crystal filters the light of thought
the same, soothing fuchsia––it’s genius.
In sadness, we try to control
that which is not ours to.
See how charm leads me through
my life, self-loathing chasing after.
I open the door and my girlfriend
is worrying my blood pressure will kill me.
At night we recognize the same
purple halo around each other’s words.
Even in my dreams my dad
has been dead so long.
It’s one of the things that tells me
the dream is real. It is like still
recognizing the fuzzing shoreline
as I constantly depart on a long cruise.
I sit down on the couch beside her
and can’t believe we keep
surviving! Purple light, purple despair,
please stop touching the one I love.
Even in my own home, I don’t understand
when to change the thermostat.
Falling asleep together on the bed,
the mist of courtyard lights covering us,
it feels like we’re moving through space.
Tell me why that can’t be enough.