[39] No Serotonin Left, Claire Scott

Help! My serotonin is reuptaking
by the gigatonne. Neurons
greedily slurping like a black Lab
licking ice cream on the sidewalk
outside Baskin-Robbins.

Little left to carry upbeat messages
around my brain in brown leather
satchels or JanSport backpacks. Memories
of Santa Claus, shiny quarters from
my uncle or Max making mischief.

More like Red Riding Hood with an empty
basket or the Easter Bunny with no tinted eggs.
I lie in bed like an ancient grandmother with
a white kerchief around her head. The wolves
of depression knocking at the door.

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