Depression in poetry, healing or prolonging?

I have just come across this poem I published several years ago when I was going through a very sad part of my life. Its called ‘There’s black in every heart.’ Having rediscovered it I was almost thrust once more into depression. All I can say is to those who suffer there can be light after the darkness, even if there is black in every heart.

There’s black in every heart.

There’s black in every heart, it spins like the sun There lurks the antimatter of my joy. It spins and pulls the light away.

Sending hurtful splinters anywhere, even at the things I love, things so fragile. Too late – I realise.

Another hateful arrow finds a random target and despair surrounds me, it spins like the sun and pulls the light away.

Looking out I can see nothing other than that loathsome pity for myself. There’s black in every heart, it spins like the sun.

Who cares what hurt that I have done, what flower cut down, what trust betrayed? There lurks the antimatter of my joy.

They talk of hope but I have none. Not while this black hole burns coldly in my soul. It spins and pulls the light away.

There is no light, I choose to blind myself and turn away, There’s black in every heart, it spins like the sun.

Alone in my anguish, misery and icy loneliness. There lurks the anti matter of my joy.

Don’t pity me, I am below deserving. It spins and pulls the light away.

Fear me, for I can spoil and smear and desecrate, there lurks the antimatter of my joy.

Don’t give me love, I don’t need it; I shall hide here, in the blackness of my heart.

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