Chronic

The forest is deep, the trees are tall, the sky can not be seen.
East, West, North or South, which direction will i be free.
Neither path has been paved, no direction signs to follow.
Ruby shoes nor crystal balls contain the answers, must i beg and borrow

We expect those sick to be positive and hopeful when the rest are not
Wear fancy colored ribbons and partake in long walks
All to aid and abet the spirits that are robbed
I am tired and spent, been poked and prodded
Is anyone even out there - to hold up the downtrodden

The sun is setting and I am blessed with the view
This moment will pass and I no longer will be blue
I must stop now before I make my mom sad
Don't worry its just a poem and sometimes you just need to feel bad