living in tension
all my life,
I have been waiting
to sit still with you.
my back is fucking killing me.
what day is it?
October?
almost.
the last time I took a bath
was in Phoenix
a few years ago.
I wish I got paid more
to write poetry.
then I could get an MRI
on my back
and figure out what's wrong.
maybe it's been built
up from forever,
carrying burdens and guilt,
stress and strife.
it's nighttides like these,
especially after yesterdays like that
in which I would reach for whiskey.
instead, I will take an Advil PM
and watch Netflix,
and dream of the Haunted Mansion.
this has been my shade.