Down here
I like to dream
of the sky
because I know
I'll never see it again
The earth presses
down, heavy, and firm
it fills my lungs
and I wish it would stop
but there's no death here
If I had something
I might be able to get out
but I don't
so I won't
and it continues to hurt
I think my bones may
be broken, my heart
more so. But it's all
just a dull ache
down here
six feet under
I think this is what depression feels like.