Dave Hughes: Relax Francis

Sitting with my forehead pressed against the bars.

Listening to people talking.

I know,

they do it to waste time between breaths.

Something to do,

to fill the interminable seconds between now and the dark.

Racing each other to the end.

Simply so they don’t have to ever face,

this feeling of loss and emptiness.

This bitter wrenching lurch

which comes from looking quietly in.

An identification of the futility,

that the sense of self is a morbid joke.

Which demands we scrabble in the muck,

hoping to find significance in the abyss,

itself a created storm of dopamine and electricity.

The awareness, the creeping horror,

that if happiness is an illusion,

then is it not still happiness?

Madness is no less real to the mad.

Sounds like the same prison,

with a different view.

I am looking for someone to share a cell with,

and I have bourbon.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s