I keep my window closed;
the grief pounds against it.
Whiskey fills the air,
replacing the oxygen with drunken souls,
too far gone to ever see the light.

We pass the decaying trailers
where broken beer bottles scatter the lawn
and a chained bike lays against a dead tree.

My window cracks.

There are no children playing
or screams of laugher.
Only screams themselves.

A teenager hides in his hood
and cups his mouth.
Sparks reveal his scarred face.

Long greasy hair sways back and forth
while a man stumbles out of a bar,
screaming something about a jukebox stealing his nickel.
Only a nickel.

An old lady pushes her grocery cart.
On one side her belongings only fill it partially.
The other side, a dog whimpers,
unveiling its ribs with every breath.

My window shatters.

The depression sweeps in,
and I feel the full force of its power.
A deep throbbing begins inside me.
Every piece of joy is crushed.
There is no way to escape.