Living

The mournings are the hardest times,

Seeping with the rise of blues,

Strunk with the bird songs on wires.

The stinging dead eyes cower,

Retreating beneath sheets from glowing curtains,

Determined to develop a taste for the inflicting dark.

Company would ease woes if it wasn’t so lonely,

Chattering with the flick of thumbs and algos,

Covering up their own nights of discomforting silence.

The drugs aren’t cheap enough to make bad choices,

And there’s not enough fame to feel loved,

There’s no romance in loving one’s suffering.

It’ll go away soon enough along with everything,

A promise of boredom and change,

One of the few ever made and kept.

So wake up and etch your tally,

On paper or walls but never skin,

If for nothing else than to not have to clean up after.

Summoned by the songs the deaf envy,

Rise with the blues you can see,

And mourn the hard times you’ll miss.

#HI