Deer in the Headlights

Like old people

whose knees ache

before the rain comes


I can feel parts of me

tightening up in the cold

of oncoming depression


I know when it is coming

an ache before a storm


Being prepared does not help

Knowing of its arrival

does not stop it from bearing down


I meet it head on

like a deer in the headlights


And when the wet red-pinks of my insides

splatter on the windshield of worthlessness

I can say “I saw you on the way over”


But really, what good does that do

when I’m just carnage left discarded

on the side of the road?