I feel bad putting up yet another dark poem, but this is just how I’ve been feeling, and it’s all I have been able to write about so I’m sorry if it’s a lot. I’ll try to post something more cheery next time. But at the present moment, this is what I feel.




Why is it that guitars and drums are the only things tethering me to life?

I have become too heavy,

All of my other supports seem to have left.

Now I’m hanging over the edge with riffs and clashing noise tied around my waist—

Holding a limp cadaver.


It sways in the breeze,

Set off by any wayward noise or thought.

Yet its weak fingers still clutch the thinning rope,

The horns and strings still pulsing.


3 thoughts on “Heavy: A.D. April 10, 2019”

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