One Of Those Days
The winter has made me lonely,
And you’re the most comfortable thing around.
Cast off from overcast skies
I curl up in your company, idly wondering,
What is intimacy?
I kiss your back while we sway
In and out of sleep,
The waves of unconsciousness lapping at our brains,
Wet drags of lips across
The nape of your neck,
Reminders you are here,
The morning comes and the slave chime beckons.
It’s been ringing for so,
Trading existence for trinkets,
And food stamps,
Money is the global religion:
Puppet strings raising guns,
Amassing armies doe-eyed to the sight of death,
Yet enlivened with the power of god,
Overriding free will and controlling billions,
Innocent civilians become soldiers,
The sadness is infinite.
“One of those days,”
Where the soul is compressed
Into a dense tumor of pain,
Side effects of the day’s enslavement,
Drowned in that first drink,
The echoes of which ripple outward,
Casting shadows of my fate—
When does one begin to kill oneself,
To make it through the day?
The winter is lonely,
And the sky a weeping grey.
Restless hands re-check the time until
I just sit, and watch sheet after
Sheet of rain.
Your bus must be late.