Drill

I felt very sad.

With my eyes like river rocks
And all this vinegar in my skull
It's nearly a miracle
that I've escaped the bed at all
Is my life all mountain?
Was my birth name Sisyphus?
What sins from past lives
made me deserve all this?
There are aches in wrinkled gray
Even if these synapses lie
what am I doing wrong,
spending half life wanting to die?
How many holes must I drill
into my skull so I can drain
the salt, vinegar, and bile
and be free from this pain?

Author's Note

Opinions welcome