There is No Happiness Here

There is no happiness here.

Mosquitos circle overhead like vultures.

Pain is here, with an eternal depression mixed in with a fear not dissimilar to a mouse in a cat cafe.

No familiar rules, just brand new cultures.

There in the earlier there but not the currant now, I wouldn’t and couldn’t get cold rain

as it was always hot, dousing us in a burning mental pain

God this sucks very much

Every night without noise, with every step, I must shush.

While I wallow in absolute disgust,

At these terrible terrifying tears leading too what feels like a spoonful of hell,

I’m forced into amounts of manual labor so crushing that it feels like I’m underfoot an elephant in a parade,

as I’m reminded of the issues my back suffers,

while it’s only made worse by the labor that the elephants crush me with.

In that unpleasant umber weald, where the vulturous mosquitoes play around with the little happiness that’s left

With trees growing larger like the broken promises as they say that they will make my life easier,

The trees growing under the warm wet skies, soaking the failed dreams of a treehouse.