Thoughts on a dreich day

A nothingness exists

sits on my weary aching bones

gives me bad thoughts

of suicide machines

mortality,

morality, or lack there of

psychosis

cirrhosis

even the Anger poems are done

never gone

but done for now

no purpose

prospects

no-thing

in no-thing head

no head in

no sex bed

no conversation

intellectual stimuli 

except for Mr Rubix

and Herr Escher

and Monsieur  vino

and the rankness

and rottenness of a 

drunken sunken soul

seeping through my pores

leaving nothing but

stinking thinking skin behind

            Moonbit

               starlight

                      biting

                          stung !

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

i have gotten here before....life loses its purpose....we feel spent....written out, lifed out---
just existing...and we start thinking of ways to end it all....or we just start hoping death will come for us and bring us out of our meaningless lives.
really good poem...hard hitting...
j.

[gram linski]

thanks again j. aye pretty much spot on, had a bit of a head f**k week, with dark dangerous thoughts running round my dreich dark heed,