It starts with a thought that’s so hard to believe
But if I can’t explain it, it has to be me
It digs in my soil and it grows like the weeds
Now my house is condemned by a silent disease
The walls nearly cave as the night turns to day
And I haven’t slept, I haven’t showered in days
Asking myself why the sun went away
But if I can’t explain it, I must be to blame
You wouldn’t believe all the things I believe
Below there’s a rock and below that there’s me
Under the asphalt like roots from a tree
My heart is crushed and it’s so hard to breathe
I pull myself out of this bed that I’ve made
But my spirit’s still there and it’s cold like the rain
I want to own all of the choices I’ve made
But I’m so ashamed, I haven’t showered in days
About the Creator
Ingrid Hoyos
Former journalist. Freelance writer. Perpetually curious. Painfully creative. Poetry is my outlet.
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By Jason Ray Morton 5 days ago in FYI
Comments (1)
There's poetry in this depression!