Perpetual summer
yet I am sad

The rare free night that I get
All the more time for reflection
They spend spend it in front of the TV
while I wallow in self-pity

Not quite that
more of being plainly .. sad

Is it the madness of it all?
Is it just the inertia carrying me through?
Or perhaps
just the true ugliness shining through

It's so lousy to be a sad person.
Do people smile when they're at home?

What happened to the days of lying at the pier,
gazing up at Orion,
and suddenly
spotting a shower of shootings stars?

Or when all I need is to dial the telephone,
to share with those who understand.

Drown my sorrows in ale and whisky,
oyster shots and long island tea
Drive out on the long journey
The empty road, the dim world.

But I can't. To be a responsible person.
To do what has to be done.
To cast away the whithering self
To put on a suit of shining armour

And yet all is empty inside.

Nope, this isn't an awful poem
Just disjointed thoughts
Just the scream from inside

Perhaps, it's that part of the cycle again
Food doesn't help,
Hobbies don't help,
Nothing helps except bed rest.

Maybe .. this weekend. Just bed rest. Nothing but that. A good book, munchies, curl up in bed. Watch time go by. See the world age. Feel myself age.
My organs puetrifying, my brain liquifying, my joints degenerating.
And at the end of it all, I've just done nothing.