POEM

In my early twenties I wrote a lot of depression poetry. It was wonderfully sad and dramatic and full of self-pity. This one got published in a poetry anthology.


WET DREAM

I'm swimming in melancholy,
Stroking up despair.
Paddling my way to apathy,
Gasping "I don't care."

The water doesn't burn my eyes
It's all made up of tears.
One last cry tries for a save,
Too late for no one hears.

I didn't think it'd be this way.
That death would be so wet.
There's a certain kind of peace I feel
As I close my eyes, and forget.