[Aaron Poochigian]

This thread is indeed a competition. Who can write the most depressing poem?

As a model of a depressing poem here is something by Georgy Ivanov (I want to put the last seven lines on a Hallmark card):

It's good that Russia has no Tsar,
it's good that Russia's just a dream,
it's good that God has disappeared,

that nothing's real, except the stars
in icy skies, the yellow gleam
of dawn, the unrelenting years.

It's good that people don't exist,
that nothingness is all there is,
that life's as dark and cold as this;

until we couldn't be more dead,
nor ever were so dark before,
and no one now can bring us aid,
nor even needs to anymore.

[Matt Q]

It’s hard to keep up with the cleaning
when something inside you is screaming
that every new breath
takes you closer to death
and your life is bereft of all meaning.

[Aaron Novick]

Life is pain,
Then you die.
Do you gain?
No. Why try?

[Aaron Poochigian]

Whoa, not what I expected, but lusciously depressing, nonetheless.

A depressing limerick and a poem in trochaic dimeter--rollicking, ironic depressiveness.

[Adrian Fry]

We're literally all going to die.
There is no God and no-one cares.
No deed or word or thought you try
Remotely consoles, absolves, repairs.
We're literally all going to die.

[Brian Allgar]

Vlad's challenger

He tried.
He failed.
He died
Impaled.

[Brian Allgar]

Let there be light

“I’m God!” screamed the Donald. “You’re mutton!
I’ll boil you alive! I’m a glutton!
You’re nothing but sheep!”
Then the orange-haired creep
Cooked the world as he pushed the red button.

[Chris O'Carroll]

Housman’s Epitaph

My time was always running out,
My faith in doom always devout.
No scholarly attainments can
Revise the fate prescribed for man.

I never looked on blooming spring
Without chill thoughts of wintering,
Nor ever drew a living breath
Unmindful of impending death.

I knew what would in time betide
Each muscular young lad I eyed,
And knew that I must lie someday
Beside them all beneath the clay.

You shall be dust like me ere long,
For pessimism’s never wrong.
It came at last, my time to go.
I knew it would. I told you so.

[RCL]

Ageless Epiphanies

Tweezing the hair from my imposing nose,
I know where the hair from my head now grows.

Trimming my chin hair, now turned yellow,
I see that I am a ripening fellow.

Eying the chicks with one good eye,
I read their signs: Geezers Need Not Apply!

Clipping my crotch hair, lank and grizzled,
I grasp that libido has finally fizzled!

[Brian Allgar]

Aaron, I'm afraid that Mr Ivanov is over-optimistic in believing that even a few things actually exist:

...nothing's real, except the stars
in icy skies, the yellow gleam
of dawn ...

The truth is:

The yellow gleam of dawn? Surprise, surprise!
It’s simply caused by jaundice-riddled eyes.
Those twinkling lights? I’m sorry, they’re not stars,
Just pinpricks in our damaged retinas.