Rejection, call it how you will, is the ribbon around depression. It runs, it walks, it rolls, it yawns. There’s pain, & there’s knowing. I feel it & force it, push it & drag, like the wheel of a barrow it is cruel. As the arse of a cow or popular cattle, no matter how truthful, how youthful, or how many mishaps it may have seen, again it appears exposed, taut, moist, & out of control. The fluorescent privates of another species, pink in perish from the sight of a human ready to shaft this beast, the chatterbox bragging as the world turned, as he pulled it beneath. Four, three, two, one. It jolted & winced at the pinch in a miniscule madness, it happened once & it will happen again, the birth of a cold blooded human to rough the wild, and unearth the heathen, in every legion. But for all it’s worth, and my god it’s big – rejection, call it how you will, is the ribbon around depression.


Zack Ashley
Illustration Nick Victor

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