Melancholy

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y5QDEEXKfpo&t=22s

Yes, I am well aware that its very long however I'm providing a transcript in the event that you are not interested in listening to it. It is my first poem I publish publicly after years of writing in notebooks away from prying eyes. Follow the link for the video! Enjoy!

I sit in my room, in a corner, hoping to distance myself from everyone. Grieving the death of a relationship must be done behind closed doors, in privacy. I have no intention of letting the outside world in and I have no desire to share everyone else’s excitement about happy matters. Looking back, the warning signs were there, blatant neon signs that beckoned only to reject me. I am a shirtless patron and are disqualified from the establishment.

What is love? For some, it’s that first kiss you shared, that hangs from your lips in eternal bliss. For others, it’s the way your name in their lips grips you, makes you feel chills down your spine and arouses you.

What is love?

For me, love is a commodity, that I can ill afford. I guess I’ll never really know what love is. Sigh Fuck Maslow’s hierarchy.

And it is not the loss that pains me. It’s the blow to my ego that troubles me. To have this happen a second time, consecutively, one atrocity after another? Seems like bad luck with all odds against me. Or could it be my self-sabotaging nature play its role in my demise? I have been in this streak for a very long time; making bets against myself seemed to be a safe bet, yet there are no winnings to be reaped, no celebrations to be had, no champagne to pop in reckless abandon. Do not mistake champagne for a happy drink. It is merely a guise. However tonight, I drink vodka, in vain I might add, in hopes of replicating the inebriation that love once gave me. But it is not working at all. This very fact is sobering. I must drink more. The bottle is getting heavier now but there is no more liquid. I am not nearly drunk enough to feel love yet. How much more? I risk falling into the warm embrace of death if I dare drink more but hope has already died. Is there really more to live for? I hope not. How ironic. What I am proposing is the beginning of the end. Whatever may bring about my demise, I welcome it with open arms. It will spare my loved ones the pain and suffering to add to their knowledge that I have brought about my own end by my own hand. This is not a plea for help, do not make that mistake. This is a creation of my own insanity in hopes of gaining understanding. Prose, prosecco, peace and quiet. It is all I need for now. But I intend to go out with a big bang. How? We will just have to see. Until then

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/772 z9q/stargazer/doiqnyf/

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/776e40/the_depths/dok2gxy/