Untitled.

It isn't as if when I'm feeling this way I can drive out to some remote piece of earth and feel a presence of the Lord or something supernatural. The oceans, mountains, and forest lay in a land beyond my gas tank and minimum wage paycheck. Somehow my depression doesn't drive me to be frivolous. Pop art becomes annoying as it is painstakingly at every corner with a billboard lighting up the night sky. I can't escape to chains in the middle of the night, they're all to well-known glow is disheartening.
I can't escape this feeling, and I'm surely just dying.

First poem in a year and a half.

(I have been on hiatus from writing poetry for a year and a half, hopeful that this poem will spark many more)

It's so tyrannical how my mind works.

Killing so many thoughts

So many words.

Hoping this dusty silence has a chance.

The bones relapsing, creaking and cracking.

Morning breath slipping,

and my eyes wishing they were seeing.

Trying to encompass everything of the like.

Allowing the sun to set, and for there to be the night.