Tuesday, September 18, 2018

What's wrong with me?


Virtual shut-in
Don’t bathe like I should
Laundry weighs me down like an obese albatross

The paralysis I feel each and every day continually breaks my heart as I distract myself as best I can like Cleopatra or Rip Torn
Tropic of Cancer another place I’ll never visit though I get where Miller was coming from
People say pull yourself up by your bootstraps to which I reply what bootstraps and how can I pull when I feel so pushed beneath the loam

Dan’s right this depression is making my writing red hot as my existence simmers on the back burner and I want to get lit or burned up like a treasure seeker whose lost their bounty and their will to roam
The path I’ve carved out of pumpkin rind and old dreams isn’t doing much for my self-esteem as the holidays like a death knell march toward me
Yes, I have always placed creativity over survival and lately I’m starting to think that particular skill-set has left the station and a roll of the dice no longer favors the fearless

I’m all out of steam, ramen and whatever else keeps a good man keepin’ on
There was a time when I was full of piss and vinegar and believed my art would save me or at the very least catapult me out of these doldrums
Now I understand how much of a long-shot that is and I’ll sooner than later get beaten down like Shepard and my other close friends who burned hotter than the sun and were put out like a grease fire

Charles Cicirella

No comments: