UnPoetia:Drunken Angst Directed at Girlfriend and those who care enough to cheer you up
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Poetry for people who hate poetry |
Perspicacious empathy that is emotional window-dressing
A passing trying on of my feelings when I answer:
“Fine thanks” in a minor key.
No tears, but you sense something, a drop in my euphoria,
That taints with fractal depression
The salty smiling sea.
Pairing off around me and mocking me by accident,
My previous good luck not affording me trouble,
But instead a group decision that for me this can only be temporary.
A blot in my copy-book, I’ll be back to normal tomorrow.
Bad day today, nothing more.
Adding fewer, or more, kisses on a text or email,
You still spot it and are worried,
Despite how you perpetuate the idea that I,
Because of what I’m usually like,
Can never reach the rock bottom.
If I do, I busy myself with working and drinking and saying how songs are about me or very unlike me.
The latter usually something by Pulp.
You cheer me superficially with silly little bitchings about someone else in the room.
My smile is skin deep, and your treatment symptomatic,
And the feelings still linger, bitter at my face’s refusal to acknowledge them and chew away at my reserves of whatever I run on.
Drunken activity weeks ago seems trivial and worlds away from this prison of well meaning people.
When I kiss your neck and make you vomit ecstatically, and then tell you about the worst moment of my life excluding the ones that are so haunting that every time the descriptions pass my lips I feel smaller than ever and tear at myself like a man on fire.
But I don’t think that I’ll do that sort of thing tonight.