This Poem is Depressing as Fuck
Location
They call it “home,
but all I see is empty space
filled with wasted time
and half-happy faces.
The future shines bright
as we search the horizon
for that last sliver of light,
our fate imprisoned in it.
Then we turn from it,
we draw the blinds,
our dreams dancing
on our pillows
with the fading luster.
But the dream ends.
The daylight rises weakly.
The snow dwindles.
The daydreams keep us warm.
And yet this home is empty.
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: