Rita lives in a cave,
Hollowed out of her own soul;
In the darkness she cries
But no one hears her.
Movement becomes inaction, and inaction becomes a lead weight:
Sometimes The End seems her only Fate.
Living each day without Hope,
Rita would long lovingly for Life
If she could remember what longing was.
Here’s stasis; here’s life on a point of Now:
Here’s despair that nothing ever changes.
This poem is about the heavy weight of depression, suicidal thoughts and living only in the moment, because it’s impossible to see ahead and to hope.
