Little Planets on My Glasses (Four Sheets to the Wind)

The weight of a day

Rests in my eyelids,

Sliding somewhere

Under lungs.

 

Holding my breath,

Clearing my throat,

Watching the sky

Turn dirty pink;

 

It’s rain again,

In a few minutes, I’m sure of it.

The day feels paused for it.

I can put my finger on its pulse.

 

I feel hesitant,

Under-valued, and it hurts to admit

That I’m scared—

I might have even been born to it.

 

Sit on my balcony,

Watch as rain pelts the ground,

Shake suddenly, as

If touched by a phantom limb.

 

Droplets careen

Off hand rails, spotting my glasses

With water planets like

Unfocused orbs. I wonder…

 

How hard it would be

To dive and live in such a hostile world,

And what life would have me—?

 

My brother thought

I wanted to commit suicide last night

And I feel bad that he can’t read me so well;

I was probably just drunk and listening to Tom Traubert’s Blues.

 

My spirits are low today,

Ebbing and flowing with the coming showers,

Pink light from the sky.

I guess it’s a user-friendly level of depression.

 

It keeps me going but truly

Gets me nowhere. I accomplish nothing and not a whole lot matters.

Sleep hasn’t been coming easy of late.

Is it possible that a great war is rattling around in me?

 

I don’t even dream…

And when I do, it’s just bad appetites,

Amatory imagery, ruddy fingers (lacquered),

Slinking there, making things worse when the weight is too much to stifle.

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