Withering on
Like the winds
Carry plague
Melancholic
The strain
Sorrow I can’t explain
And emotion
Is dopamine’s
Poetry name
For what I really feel
Is a figurative pain
Not an ouch
But it hurts
I am worthless
Than dirt
For at least
As the soil
Some sign of life blooms
From its loamy, lugubrious
Funeral tombs