Gravity is pulling way too hard these days.
Or is it the heavy blue of the sky that is weighing me down?

Perhapse it has always been this way.
Or perhaps it is due to my mere existence.
Life.
My life.
An endless depression. A suffering.
An extended metaphor describing this temporary earthly existence.
The promising highs and their corresponding lows like a beating heart.

But it all shall pass.
The sky will hang too low and gravity will pull too hard leaving me no choice but to crumble into death. The dust from which I came.
Death will find me, and relieve me from this suffering. This depression, this life.

Death;
An Eternal peace, my sweet escape.