Dave Bonta's "Depressive" is only six lines long, but it sketches a whole afternoon of low, heavy feeling. The speaker addresses a "you" who is stuck in bed, "lodged" there like something wedged in place rather than simply resting. The word suggests someone who can't be moved. The afternoon is "black," so the mood is dark even though it is daytime.
The middle lines turn bleak. The person in bed looks at the world and sees "bedlam" with "cold eyes," as if everything outside is chaos and the viewer feels no warmth toward any of it. The poem doesn't explain why. It just shows how depression can flatten and darken what you see.
The ending is the unsettling part. "Since light can spoil / try gin or sake" sounds like casual advice, but it suggests that light is a threat and that numbing yourself is the cure. The offhand tone makes it sadder. The poem leaves us with a quiet, uneasy feeling and no comfort.