Reflections in solitude I locked myself with a key Then locked myself inside of me Your advice no longer makes sense to see I’m a gray wolf—this is my fear’s debris On depression, I’ll write volume two Life’s Jerry, and I’m Tom the fool Sick of it all, I’ll leave it for later A day and a half, sweeping my mind’s labor Gnawing on past selves, fragments I chew Hallway rot like watermelon rinds—life’s residue I’m sad, tea steeped thick In this hollow, half-dim crypt Jaw clenched from boredom’s grip Days fly, and my hands briefly slip From this sick routine—ugh, enough Suffering’s not measured in feet or stuff Not in bullet points or facts or such Wrote a poem in 20 minutes,