Depression
Jaclyn said we were idle.
Idling was all we could do.
Alone, unsupervised.
I was supposed to be, tried so hard to be, keeping it in, suppressing my depression.
Raisin bran on my fingers, scrunching the oversized Frisbee.
I want that, I want this sleep. I want to sleep. I need to sleep.
Peace.
I’d miss this day.
Jaclyn would be idle alone, I couldn’t.
Fake fight, tear, goal, Coco's crap.
I really tried today.
I even caught myself laughing.
It didn’t stay long though, my laugh.
You can always tell when it’s hard and infrequent.
When you have to go out of your way to savor it.
Confess it.
I can’t write poetry.
Weeds.
I’m trying to day dream artistically and mortally but it’s near impossible.
Getting darker every day.
When I’m gone will you read this to Jaclyn?
No, please don’t.
I don’t want her to know that I’m idle eternally.
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