the old farm
tonight's storm
was the first night
i thought about
the old farm
the way the rain
sounded on a
metal roof
how the thunder
would shake the
thin walls
i almost miss
watching the
cats dash
between
raindrops
almost
as i'm able to
sleep in a warm
bed instead of
staying up all
night
making sure the
cellar doesn't
start to take on
too much water
i paid the price
for solitude
i made it to
the other side
now
single turning 40
you have reached the age
where desperation wears
you like a cheap suit
and no matter what you
try
the whole fucking world
knows
when you
become
accustomed
to despair,
you fall
victim to
all the
trappings
the cold
nights
alone
another bottle
drained empty
the sunlight
is like an
unwanted
visitor
you get comfortable
in your own filth
and soon, even
your good side
understands that
there is no hope
to break this cycle
and that is when
despair changes
to simply running
out the clock
death does not
need to be some
harrowing event
sometimes it is as
simple as lying in
bed and just fading
away
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