Venomous bile and dark ichor. Brewed from twisted and misshapen organs, percolating up through coarse pores to be spewed forth as hate, anger and despair. A black dog’s breakfast of mushy, messy mood. Irrational and unreasonable blackness — a burdensome weight heaved through foggy minefields of memory, pitted by blastholes of regret. The Maxim of reality unleashed, throwing a fine mist of lead/gold through thick air. Trying to dodge the bullets – disoriented, drained and flushed with frustration.
But, alas, finding the fetid field face first, drowning in malevolent miasmas, guts strewn out over the ominous skeletal branches of a nearby tree. An oak — charred and blackened, revealing a hard heart and obsidian soul…
July 3, 2007 at 2:15 pm |
Have I ever told you how great prozac is? Really.
July 3, 2007 at 4:00 pm |
Drugs won’t make you feel better…Forever.
July 3, 2007 at 4:37 pm |
Yes, but often they help you deal with the source of your unhappiness.
July 3, 2007 at 6:12 pm |
Truth is, I’m just moody. ;)
July 5, 2007 at 6:16 am |
Weird, I wrote almost this exact same ‘poem’ when I was ‘moody’ and in my early 20’s.
How embarrassing…
July 5, 2007 at 10:07 am |
How So? Not Embarrassing…Synchronous, maybe.
July 5, 2007 at 2:49 pm |
You must have read this article:
http://cbs13.com/topstories/topstories_story_186074452.html
July 5, 2007 at 4:29 pm |
Nope. Another synchronicity. Happening a lot these days…
July 5, 2007 at 10:23 pm |
Oh, dear me, you need to get back to that beach for a bit of rest, relaxation, and the sound of the waves!
July 6, 2007 at 8:04 am |
No doubt.
July 16, 2007 at 12:52 am |
It’s just a hangover, people.
July 16, 2007 at 10:47 am |
“Coming down”, more like.