deepundergroundpoetry.com
No Life, No Life
Everything seems to be
charred sky or suicide sun,
unmistakable,
inescapable,
either that or some kind
of nondescript peace,
bloodless,
lifeless,
no pulse in it at all.
The blade runs
back and forth
across my brain
or it is consumed
by empty laughter,
the same music,
the same food
day in, day out.
Whether a million
hands pull at
my consciousness
or the landscape
drowns into
the tasteless cream
of sleep, all I do
is throw my hands up
and ask: why, oh, why?
charred sky or suicide sun,
unmistakable,
inescapable,
either that or some kind
of nondescript peace,
bloodless,
lifeless,
no pulse in it at all.
The blade runs
back and forth
across my brain
or it is consumed
by empty laughter,
the same music,
the same food
day in, day out.
Whether a million
hands pull at
my consciousness
or the landscape
drowns into
the tasteless cream
of sleep, all I do
is throw my hands up
and ask: why, oh, why?
Published 23rd May 2023
Author's Note
The pain and difficulty of keeping on, at times.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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23rd May 2023 8:34pm
24th May 2023 00:41am
