Monday, January 13, 2014

Southern Comfort and God Is An Astronaut

It is after midnight
and I am up drinking
alone
while the house sleeps
and I put on music
to try and force words from me
the right words
a way to capture all this
frustration and sadness
and confusion and melancholia.
Those are just words
they can't bottle any of it.
I can't help coming off sounding trite.
Oh, fuck. Screaming.
Lives move on and time continues to pass
but how could it when I'm still stuck.
Won't someone please
please
reach back and help me
I just can't keep up.
I'm so tired.