All My Skin is a Prison Wall...

Short poem putting a depressive episode into words.

All my skin is a prison wall
a screaming claustrophobic fire;
it holds out those I long to be,
leaving me inside-- I perspire
to force the walls that eat me up
to forge a hole to let me out.

The finger nails-- they let me down.
No longer do they chalkboard scrape
in futile efforts, day and night
to reach that bliss but lost escape.
Don't hold it in, let it eat you through
to forge a hole to let me out.

The time-told eyes may captivate
the attention of the reader.
Yet I know eyes not only lie,
but thoroughly mock each seer.
No use to pretend it's use to you;
Shut the lids and peer on through.

The torture chamber, every inch
chuckling in disturbed delight;
the brain builds us strong, builds us fat, makes us plump.
The butcher then smiles at the sight.

Dig a hole, get me out-- I'm dragging, I'm falling!
There's got to be more to a life than a body!