This is grief
stale air of a dawn bus ride
forehead pressed on bathroom tiles
numb feet in cheap boots
burning fever in a house of strangers
rough coffee on an empty stomach
kissing with mouth of tears
house with mould on the walls
heated 3am litany of all your flaws
highway noise in a forty-dollar pub room
silence from the one you love
cigarette hair and mouth a desert
sweat down your back at a midsummer funeral,
but this is worse.
This is worse.
From [the author]: I just feel horrendous. I have been trying to write my way out of this because writing is my thing. This is a poem about what my life is like at the moment. I can’t live like this any more. Please restart me and call this Day 1.
Reposted with permission from Tired of Thinking About Drinking