the opposite of depression is not happiness but vitality, which is defined as “the state of being strong and active; energy.” how is that supposed to work? she wakes up in her insalubrious rot bed (The bed actually belongs to her best friend who’s been staying indefinitely with her new Jewish boyfriend). she drinks an apathy smoothie for breakfast : empty calories, almond milk, pineapple. this is metabolized into torpidity. she smokes in bed, vapes in bed, reads poetry blogs in bed, pops another AAA battery in her purple vibrator, listens to Bark Psychosis. writhes. she was loved once, you know.
outside the window
the last abscised leaves are clinging on.
they’re so dead already but won’t fall off.
a compact mirror cracked in her bag yesterday.
then the zipper broke too.
it’s so over.
the tap water tastes metallic,
smells sulfurous.
the landlord won’t turn the heat on.
she awakes from troubled sleep
Macbook charger curled around her neck
no missed calls.
the cord leaves a red ring.
her iPhone is a useless thing.
a hundred days of sex hair
a thousand bottles of travel size conditioner.
the moon glares through skylights,
sick and twisted laserbeam
teasing the slits.
she fogs up the mirrors
her second shower of the day
she’s used to being lonely.
living alone lets the loneliness linger
longer than it used to.
when she lived with her parents,
their screams filled up the silences.
scuttling centipedes.
creaking wood floors.
moaning docks.
wind whistling
through sailboats.
white
white
noise.
Chloe Wheeler writes poems. Her work has been published in Expat Press, Don’t Submit, Farewell Transmission, Spectra, among others. Currently crashing out on X: @sardine_enjoyer
This is my favorite kind of poetry—self awareness and loathing sandwich and kinda funny too.
Only made me wince three times