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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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