I always used to write when I began to feel the weight of the world.
But sometime last year, I think that I fell into a hole and I forgot how it had helped me.

Every effort started to feel futile.
I stopped trying to make sense of my lonliness,
And I gave in to my
hopelessness.

Now I'm beginning to realize
that these feelings of dread
They are all in my head.
And I can put them to bed
By putting words in their stead.

I can use my rhyme
And up the stairs I will climb
Of sorrow and depression
With this tool of expression.