Monday

My knees weaken standing in the very bottom.
They feel as tho they should give out.
I will not let them.
Cloudiness obstructs my sight.
I hold my position still surrounded by an isolating
shape of earth.
Nothing is closing is on me.
Life is still. Almost calm.
I’ve been here.
Darkness methodically seeps into
my every thought and pore.
I question everything.
The morning sun shares its glow above me.
I know I should be riding with it.
But I am too deep.
I cannot hold my hand in it.
The blur that I have caused clears and I blink rapidaly to clear the nights trail. 
I see walls of soil that surround my weary mind.
I know this. I’ve become familiar. A comfortable outcome. Home.
Though this time is not like the rest. My hands, numb and thin and tired, hold onto something that I should know. Something I’ve always ignored. 
But this time I cannot pretend it doesn’t exist. Anger and self loathing pulls the strings and I tighten my grip. I don’t want to look down and see what ever it is I’m holding. But I should. And I do. It will be the same. It is the same. I see the same shovel I hold in my hands every time I cannot feel the heat from the new, fresh sun. I know it so well. I know it so well that I can make it dissapeer. I can turn it into a ladder. Yes. I’m tired of holding this shovel. I’m tired of the surrounding earth. Monday. Monday this shovel will be ladder. I will climb and feel the warmth of the sun on my face. I Monday. I will never feel this darkness again. I will not need a ladder after Monday. Nor will I ever hold this shovel again. On Monday.