Lettuce
Depression is just a head of lettuce.
Crinkled and ruffled.
I have empty space.
And a cross armed feeling.
But my toes aren’t right.
There’s layers.
Scooping out goop.
Depression is just a head of lettuce.
All green and good on a sandwich.
Also not good at all.
Crickled and ruffled.
Washed in the kitchen sink.
With that weird washed feeling.
And a laugh track like ants sprinkled throughout.
Depression is just a head of lettuce.
Can’t hurt me.
Spoils too quickly though.
I shouldn’t have waited.
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