the job

won’t someone else
please take over
the responsibility
of making me happy?
it’s far too big a job and
I just can’t hack it
anymore.

can you distract me
from the endless pain
of existence?
then by all means,
go ahead. you’re
welcome to try. it will
probably only make me
sadder, though, when the
old enemies, my black and
lonely thoughts of
impending doom
come rushing back in,
all the more importuning
for having been briefly
shut out.

sometimes I see a plane
passing by overhead
and wish that my heart
could just fly away
with it.

sometimes I am envious
of the dead, so calmly sleeping
in their cushioned beds,
nestled, resting in their cold,
peaceful, milk-white marble
tombs.