It’s both a feeling and a lack of feeling
That’s why it’s black, not grey;
Both a color and a lack of color.

I can’t be conscious.
I can’t keep going.

I wake up in a daze
Still a little drunk,
Skunked, take a walk to take a ****,
Feeling like I’ve missed something,
The agony of the day begins.

Kicking myself over fictional sins
The sickly stench of solitude
Sweeps me into silence.
Too much caffeine to jog my mind
My body is nauseated already.
Steady hands left me long ago
Sorrow and saltwater is within my eyes.

I can’t be conscious.
I can’t keep going.

Black thoughts are my wife
Prolonged by life, the ultimate depressant.
Wasted days are ever present;
Not the exception, but the rule.

After nap time, slurp up the drool and
Go to kingdom Cruel where
No self-aware being escapes its own glare.
Thoughts are frantic and fragmented
A stagnant mind, fragile it finds
Relief in not thinking, to be found
In drinking Aristocrat. But it wears off too soon;
It’s a depressant they say
Have they forgotten about life?

Help! Help! The town is in peril!
Its beasts of burden are raw and feral.
They devour children with their hearts still thumping,
Parents are numb, stand by, and do nothing.

In the town square, the great council is hung,
Chaos, with its destructive war, has begun
By lighting the town’s clock tower on fire;
To serve as the town’s funeral pyre.

In the tower, people all tremble with fear
As fickle flames more fiercely move near.
With blurry eyes they unlatch the window’s clasp
And resign their fate away from the flames grasp.

From the flames, there is life
That’s filled with saltwater and strife.
From the air, we take our breaths
And choose the option of a quicker death.