Dry Ocean

I wrote this sonnet when I was 13 in grade 9. I think this was '10 or '11. This poem is v personal to me because it abstractly refers to my struggle with depression and how alone I felt at the time.

Dry ocean on the wicker tin roof

Cat children in my burned bunker trunk

My bed is empty and my floor frozen with funk

On the spotty moon I sit with a paintface goof

Cross legged I rest as I test the jester at his best

He must lose and drop my my world, so I may return home

Demon is he and longtime friend of mine, with and without him I’ll be alone

He; the teller of my ransom and the sucker of my zest

Swallow moonrock pale and chime with time

Lay your head down, friend, and let us end

Awake I’ll remain with this cavernous soul of mine

You’re damned and dead, unable to mend

Upon my icy throne of sticks I’ll dine;

A sickly toast of dreams and wine