The Modern Depression

At grandpa's house lay a chair.
It was grey, with matted tears
Like a festering rash, old hair
Fabric clutching its wooden frame with lots of care

And when I sat on it,

A creaking welcomes me to his embrace,
its warmth a respite from the cold and rainy outside
A gentle touch on my cheek
and loving words at my face

A suckling of a teet

I lay, a lazy drone of the fridge
Listening to the old radio blare the 70s
Once again a lil' kid
Sinking into a beautiful dream

When my phone rings.