I am cursed
by a passive, leaden burden.
My vitality is strained.
For why, I’m not certain.
A disease, perhaps,
crass and furtive;
my eyes; shattered glass
beneath fast flowing curtains.
The foundation is cracked,
all the lumber is rotten.
I sit and I laugh,
at all the hope I’ve forgotten.
This home, how it moans,
as I lie here alone;
if I let no one in,
then no one can go.
It’s too rotten for guests,
I guess it’s for the best.
Mold has infested the pantry,
rats have nested the gantry;
To eject me from this tomb
would take true necromancy.
Not going outside the home all by yourself
could be tough when battling depression
to leave it you say necromancy is needed
as if you are dead and not like the living
not necromancy but an exorcism session
to restore you from all your lack of energy
realize, that you’re not dead and more alive
it puts your depression in big-time jeopardy.
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