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.