I am buried far beneath everything and anything that is good.
Or that is how I feel at least.
I often wish I were the cat, or dog, or squirrel
they have so few worries, I envy them.
The list never decreases,
the rain never lets up.
In here, at least.
I am like an old empty house.
Cold, dank, dark, dusty.
Sometimes the sun shines through my windows.
But only at just the right time of day,
and even then it is usually cloudy.
It feels cloudy, anyway.
Even if you see the sun.
Not everyone does.