It Always Starts – A poem

It Always Starts

With a sense,

That something is not quite right.


Actually, that everything is not quite right.


‘Like a black cloud?’ you ask.

‘Like a weight on your shoulders?’ You add.


Well, yeah. I believe that is easier for people to understand,

And I know they are the accepted terms of description and actually,

I myself use them from time to time,

As a kind of short-hand, rather

Then truly describing,

The horror…..


Allow me to explain.


Imagine yourself in a field.


For miles in every direction,

There is nothing. Just you.


But then,

You notice some, ‘thing’,

In the distance,

Moving in a way that is,



This, ‘thing’, creeps up to you,

Getting ever closer,

And you know you should

Move, leave, go!

But you can’t,

Because your feet are stuck fast.


As it gets closer,

This ‘thing’,

You notice,

Is clad in the black of death,

With a face of decay.




It has no pupils, no mouth even.

It has no use for one. You see,

It possesses your mind,

And controls your thoughts.

That is how it speaks.


But that comes later.


As it gets closer,

You see that

The colour behind it

Drains away, leaving nothing

But blackness.


Closer and closer

The ‘thing’ shuffles,

Until you can see its arms,

But there are no hands at the end,

Just stumps, reaching for you,


But you cannot move,


But you so desperately want to.


And then it is there!


Face to face,

And you silently plead,

‘Not again……’


Before it wraps its

Horrible, decaying body around you,

And you look into its pupil-less



As it fuses with you,

Melts into your brain,

Turns your inner voice

Against you in waves

Of paranoia and melancholy

Violence and belittlement.

As it drains you of joy, happiness,

Of the qualities that make you, you,

Until you are completely

Possessed by it.


A husssssk…….


I have nothing to add.


‘How long does it last? How do you cope? What triggers it?





Earlier on I wrote a review of The Babadook, and in watching it and writing my review I was reminded of this poem I wrote about three years ago. It’s sort of my own Babadook as I describe my depressive episodes as this evil creature.

I actually posted it on a blog I very briefly owned last year where I was going to post my poems about depression. I quickly scrapped the blog. Seeing as I’m embracing all things to do with openness these days though, what better time to put this one out there, a poem which was actually part of my final year portfolio.



    • Thank you for reading and commenting. I read your poems all the time and admire how prolific you are and how strong your use of imagery is so I’m glad you like one of mine.

    • I definitely share that sentiment in your direction also. I certainly wouldn’t be so bold on here if it wasn’t for every other person who allows me a look into their world.

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