Anhedonia

One month ago, it was a joke.

A personality trait lived with and suffered.

Now, it is birthday balloons for a day

That may never arrive again.

Helium draining until the pink and silver shimmers

Roll around on the floor.

Dead.

.

Two months ago it was the boredom of a show

Seen three times before.

The drugs slipping between eager, parted lips

And a high that could wipe away the clouds.

Now, it is a habit.

A routine to keep the little shadows at bay.

To keep the monster silent.

.

Now, it is a horrible machine

And I am stuck in its belly or maybe worse,

Behind the controls.

There is a rhythm in my ears, monotonous.

A sensation on my cheeks, cold and wet.

I have been swallowed by a machine

And the more I scream, the quieter I sound.

.

Now, the numbing gel to my gums

Has crept into my bloodstream,

Infected my veins with a crushing

Anhedonia

That leaves the world in withering shades of grey.

There is a hole in my belly

Where the world used to play.