Winter Blahs

Winter Blahs

It’s difficult to write poetry

When you’re dead inside

Everything is lifeless

Everything is irritating

I’m not sure how that happens

Feeling irritation when you’re dead

But that’s when it seems to happen the most

Every little thing

Is like a huge boulder

Dropping on your toes

Over and over again

In some kind of cruel repetition

I hate writing things like this

I hate words like hate and cruel and irritation

I don’t want those kind of contrasts in my life

I don’t want that dark background

Making some supposed light seem brighter

I simply want to enjoy the sunlight again

I simply want to feel the air against my skin

I simply want to feel, feel something

Besides all of this negative bombardment

All of this shrapnel of violence irate

All of this smoldering backwash of hate

I want to feel something besides this

So maybe a death is quite necessary

Maybe a death to all of these things

Will bring forth a life where everyone sings

Everyone plays

Everyone dances

In love and war and long romances

Everyone is who they are to be

Not stuck up in this hollow tree

Hearing nothing but the sound of me

2/18/19

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