I really don’t have anything important to say tonight
Nothing funny or witty
Nothing insightful or heartfelt
Nothing lonely or human
I am honestly just bored
And okay,
maybe lonely…
But,
I don’t want to write about being lonely or bored.
But nothing stirs up
Just a stale Sunday
staring at white walls
Another repeating pattern
Of minutes
And hours
And days
And months
Repeating
Over and over
While working a job
Just to pay bills
And hardly making anymore money then that
All while barely getting enough sleep
Or so it always feels
With a body that always aches
And I’m only 30
But really
still 29
Just rounding up
The neck
The back
The hamstring
The shoulder
The bicep
The hands
The thumbs
The forearm
The feet
They all ache
I’ve broken or torn them all
And the pattern repeats
With a decaying body
And a lonely soul...
Another one of them said to me,
‘I read your writing. It’s so sad.’
I protested,
‘Not all of them are!!’
I don’t mean it
Truly
I am not what I complain about.
I am more optimistic than I let on!!
I have romanticized my own negative feelings
And I've romanticized
Drugs
And alcohol
And sex
And meaning
And death
And the mundane air of life
And so much more
Just to have something to write about
Just to express a little
I’ve taken a spark
And made it a flame
Then I sat back
And watched that flame grow
And dance
And destroy
I can feel the heat on my face
As I think about the image I've created through my writing
What a load of shit some of it has been
But then again,
A few others bare my soul…
My heart and mind are buried in those words in some way
And something about that
is pretty neat to me
Today was just a day where I longed for someone to love on
And had no one
And those days lead to a sad collection of words
It is all just a symptom of a broken heart.
-C.H.
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