Rigor Mortis

I feel so lost and confused now.
Looking to finally reach out.
And there will never be anybody home.
Just myself in my mind writing another poem.

Now it’s thundering and lightning, just how I like it.
The show plays out exactly how I think to write it.

I feel so sad and angry now.
This weight on my shoulders wears me out.
All these drugs, endless music and being stoned.
Doesn’t help fill this void of being all alone.

The rain settles and skies brighten, I fucking hate it.
But I’ll keep writing and smiling just fake it.

-

Amazing how I faked it so long now I can’t even find myself.
Creating a circus of poetry and the delight of ill mental health.
Almost off my rocker but I’m still rocking on and always will.
Somehow that deep dark sadness inside has it’s thrills.

Amazing how time flies by yet the days seem slow.
Life is long until the final moments of finally letting go.
Here we are once again at another clouded crossroad.
Do it for myself? Or do what I am told?