The Warm Gun

Folder: 
2019

Sadness is a warm gun

and it rocks me completely

 

Can't seem to earn the time

to buy a dime

without feeling the sickle

of a taxed nickel

 

Can't seem to embrace a soulmate

for reasons formed in youth

and obliterated

by a series of aching truths

rooted in self-abandonment

under sinking roof 

confined and conformed

alone

aloof 

 

I'm not proud of my pessimism

I don't wear this shit and floss

but sometimes I bear this big motherfucking cross

by choice

for a reason.

 

for you.

 

I'll never ask for pity

but I never hope you fully understand

this plight

I hope my silence

blossoms mutual insight over time

that cannot grow in the mine field

of our tattered random collections

of embattled gray matter

 

Sadness is a warm gun

but decay's the real killer

Find a new muse

or fucking wither 

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allets's picture

With No Punctuation Guides

This still caught my imagination for the image and cadence. 

"...that cannot grow in the brownfield

 

of our tattered random collections

 

of gray matter..." Phenomenal writing. - slc


 

 

deepblue's picture

A heartfelt thank you :) 

A heartfelt thank you :)