A poem about depression…
fake news no news
and
rubber boots with holes
in
a place where the sky
is always grey
and
most days it rains
with
people mulling
over
their quiet despair
in bars that
look like somebody's unfinished
basement where
formica tables and folding chairs
got dusted off
and tossed
about the dirt floor
and this
is a place where
buildings don't
have basements and most
people living
here have
never seen one
much less
been in one
and
the only certainties
are that
someone is hungry
or thirsty
or crying
or drinking
too much
and
everyone here
is
dying
of
something
and everyone has too
much time on their hands
and tomorrow it will
of
course be grey
probably rain and
probably
every other day
will
look like the day before
and the day
after is
going
to be like
its yesterday
and
there
to
the sky will be grey
and probably
it will rain with
a chance of
fake news
or
no news
and
as to that
I
must say nobody living
here
really gives a shit!
Poetry seeds 