an ounce of hope

where there is no hope

there are no dreams

there is no love

and no above

but only below

way down low

nothing high

nothing light

no airy flight

it’s crawling

and crawling

and crawling

under

the

listless

rocks

of

depression.

I hear

it calling.

it calls

on

me.

the living

and

the dead

as door knobs.

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