"down in the dumps" by bessie smith

trying to survive, not sure which way is
up, down
left or right.

I've written like this before so lets get down to it:
my boss is catching up to me, I've lost my car,
I'm fighting a battle with love(again), grown acne like the
face of the moon, arm-wrestled with death(he's winning) and their
is one big roach riding somewhere between the cracks.

My cancer-baby emotions have been ringing
around the clock.
love, hate, sadness, anger, and lust.

I'm running on empty.
not sure which way to go,
north west
south or east.

I've decided to go to the moon.

I wish to be in a cold dead space like
an astronaut. except not like an astronaut.
more like dust.
more like a devoid rock
from humanly existence.

I want to look at a blue-green planet and
then turn away.

trying to survive is a miserable task that I
somehow
believe will end.