Poem On A Train At Blacktown

Very few people understand feeling constant futility
Upon description, they'll just stare back blankly
But there's something compelling deep within me
I call it the 'skeletal hand from the grave'
It grabs at my ankles and pulls me down
People will explain it away as 'depression' or whatever
But it's as real as their beating heart or bank balance
As real as the entire dark menacing universe is
Stretching out to infinity, and expanding at light speed
The approach is to humbly endure and stumble on
Waiting for the final relief death will hopefully bring