Misery

Nathan McCool/Mists of Melancholia

Mist of Melancholia

I can no longer recall the amount of time

that I have wasted,

collecting dust on my skin,

waiting for one more god damn thing

that really means nothing at all.

Too much though.

Too many nights lying on my back

In a drunken stupor clutching

an old acoustic

And cursing at caricatures I find in

cigarette smoke.

Do you really know?

Do any of you have any god damn idea

what it’s like to live with this kind of mind?

People can keep calling me a genius

or an artist or a son of a bitch.

But the real truth of it

is that I just hurt more

than anyone knows.

Even now

“Christmas Card From A Hooker In Minneapolis”

just collided with the memory

of a sloppy suicide

committed by a good man

just too strung out and lonely.

You think you know what it means to hurt?

View original post 121 more words

Author: Sudden Denouement

A Global Literary Collective

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s