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?