Deeper than the ocean could not explain how I feel on these dreary days and as light as a cloud could never express how much I want to weigh. Dip me in radioactive waste, hoping I get a taste of what I am doing to myself; maybe I will retrieve with powers that make me more invisible than I already perceive myself to be. Depression is an old sleepy dog inside my mind. It gets excited and stays longer when I sulk around in my own depths of self pity. I want to put this dog down, sadly I can't seem to give it up. I'm still waiting for the day my eye doctor asks what drugs I have been taking because I always am bloodshot but you can't see it unless you wish to investigate me further (no one wants to).  I want the weather to speak for me; starting pouring when I want to and start thundering when I want to scream, but, I do not control the Earth and she does not control me. I'd like to think I am related to Pluto because I have been forgotten and downgraded from my own species of human life. In a hopeful haze of waiting. Waiting for my petals to finally bloom and the right person to come along and pluck me out the ground just to see what's up. For now on though, I am dry grass. I'm only used to be set on fire for your own personal warmth.

Life will undoubtedly get out of hand.
But our wounds will mend;
our hope will replenish.

Our tribulations will evolve into tributes to our tenacity.