Depressive Senses


By: Max Sprinkle

Depression tastes like the dank air on a musty morn.
It reeks of the stench from a rotting cadaver.
It is the tiredness you feel at the end of a long workday.
It is the sight of an endless stretch of emptiness.
It is “Taps” constantly being sounded on the bugle in the back of your mind.


Back to Poetry Page
Back to Writing Page
Back to Writing Main Page
Back to Home Page