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?