This poem is actually more straight forward then any of my other poems. More off of imagery and slang for what could be something that is fake. This is something that I saw in the subway of the city recently. Comments are open.

The hot underground.

Your death was tragic.

I believe a person’s spirit stays around for a short while after their death.

It is not always easy to smile.

Depression can be difficult to combat once it gets its claws into you.

It takes a long time to accept when someone has gone.

I was spending the night a hundred feet below ground. I had paid £17 to the club known as Spice (Special Programme of Initiative, Challenge and Excitement) to try a sleep-enriching night deep in the Earth.

Part one of a story. This part introduces our hero and gives an insight into his personality and life.

Haiku on hell.