To He Who Always Listens, I Think I’m Crumbling

you died without knowing I suffer from depression
but that’s okay
I didn’t know it at that time too – depression.
It’s like a vicious creature growing
between my thighs, I know it’s there
I just don’t know what it’s called.
two days ago, I saw your last photo
and it wasn’t a last photo alive
it was a machine too tired to function
an ocean too tired to make waves
a house too tired to become home
I never heard the word ‘tired’ from you
even in those days when you refused to take a bath
you’d just say you don’t feel like it
or that it’s cold, but never tired
never tired
I don’t think I can be like you, Gramps
I’ve always wanted to but I don’t think I can
I’m 22 as I write this and I cannot count
how many times tired fell through my teeth
I keep mentioning it like an address I shouldn’t forget
tired burns in my lungs and my ribs are so
good at being firewood
I know you will find the good in this
you always do
but really Gramps,
I’m just so tired.