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: 

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