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Depressed,
Not the sexy kind
Where you guzzle wine
And suckle bullets,
The kind where
You go on long drives
And laugh, annoyed
At mundane thoughts
To jerk the wheel, going 70.

The kind where something
Cracks inside
When you laugh
Like scabbed skin
And everybody can see
The beads of blood
Collecting at the edges.

Boring tropes
Get it right
About being empty -
A glass jar
A head in the oven
The idea of huffing gas
Pretty,
But still
Overdramatic.

Depressed
In that disgusting
Mundane way
Where I still get up
To brush my teeth
And go to work

Praying between the scabbed thoughts
That maybe,
Just maybe,
Things will change.

I wish I didn’t imagine
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