The Return of Lady Depression

Depression, my old acquaintance,
Has returned to haunt me again.
She's the slut we all banged in our youth,
As immortal as an Anne Rice vampire;
As necessary a companion to us then
As to those who donned a Byronic pose,
The sensitive languor of an aesthete,
The "Lost Generation's" cynicism,
James Dean's rebellious attitude,
The world-weariness of the Beats, or
Wandered Morrison's wilderness of pain
The world of "grunge" or the darkness of Goth.

She's more than a little embarrassing
To have show up again  in my life.
She knows my deepest secret fears;
She's been a witness to my indiscretions;
I have confided to her my dreams.
She knows how far I've fallen short of them.
She's prodding me with them now,
Playing picador to my pain-maddened bull.

She's the reign of psychological terror
That ravages my psyche's eco-system.
My feral mind is glutted with morose images
That multiply like zebra mussels.
Dark musings breed unchecked,
Running through my mind
Like nutria through Louisiana bayou.
The channels of my ambition are clogged
As though choked with water hyacinth.
She's the lamprey that saps my vitality,
The kudzu that wraps my bleak perspective
In a blanketing growth of thick green despair.
I begin to flagellate myself with regrets
And self-recrimination,
Ripping deep chunks of flesh
From my self-esteem.

Now she's clutching at my arm like a drunk
Craving love and reassurance.
She's slobbering sentimental over me.
Yeah, my old acquaintance has returned.
It looks as though she'll be around for awhile.
She's brought a lot of baggage with her.

I'm thinking
Tonight she wants me to take her

Out drinking