*Originally written Dec 13 2020 while in an abusive relationship with an alcoholic*
Sometimes I feel like my head is not attached to my body
And I'm not like everybody
nor anybody
The heaviness that plagues me will not go away
And from blue, my sky begins to grey
I hold my head in my hands to realize
it all seems like a bad cliche
My severed head rests in my bloody hands
and begins to decay
But to the all the rest around me it's just another day.
To the rest my head is on my shoulders
I seem just fine
Head connected to spine
When In all reality
I've got it preserving in a big jug of wine.
Right where I want it to be
Drowning in my favorite drink
I wish I could indulge in that favorite drink
but I need something with stronger stink.
The vodka glass tinks
And i pour it right where my head should be
It goes Straight down, hook and sink
It burns the raw meat
But man that tastes so fucking neat.
Isn't karma such a treat?
YOU ARE READING
Dead Doves and Their Pretty Corpses
PoetryA collection of original poems, writings, and laments Hopefully cathartically relatable to those who read it, as you are not alone in this abyss. I am here too. Cover art by: Voidbug on IG
