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The Pit


the monotone song that sings in my head
tells me of the days I've spent alone in my bed
dreaming of birds in their juniper trees
and yearning for a place in their stead


the dirty cuts that cover my knees
avert my eyes and beg me to please
get off the ground and act like a man
and not like a worm with disease


my body is withered, I don't know that I can
I've been in this pit for my whole lifespan
perhaps I should stay, after all, the sun has fled
and I'll probably just end up where I began

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