An Ode to Melancholia
How do I kill this strange thought?
It took root some time ago and will not die. But it does not live either.
The thing it thinks about has long been dead.
All that it left behind was this thought, its ghost, a specter.
Now the thought is the thing. Or so it thinks.
And it remakes the thing everyday.
Until the thing as it was is now the thing that the thought thinks.