TRALALA

 

The feeling

Is a bit different this time

Two, out of my mind

And in it once again

En francais, they say

 

This is my secret depression

A little obsession

With putting the past where its supposed to be

Getting past

 

The painted portraits and sad sonnets which were yelled out into the misty air

Of the twists and turns in my heart

Are now secret thoughts and secret aches

Which are wished to dullness

 

An item which yearns to be sold

One broken and forlorn on a dusty night table

Beside unkempt beds and blackened windows

 

The mind is a temptress

Scandalous and fickle, leading you to believe the most preposterous of stories

Taking your hand and tickling it lightly

Distracting your feet and bringing you to deserted places

Where rats snicker in the dark

 

The imagination is its muse

Pretentious and sick in its creations

Until its master heeds the warnings of a disastrous reality

It rears its ugly head in forms of delusion and trickery

 

It is jealous of your dopamine

 

Hum

Truly

Without a conscience

Reviews

[J.P. Bristow]

Why haven't I read you before- this was brilliant and caustic in its self deprication-iinto my favs!