Jack Day

Sun Dried

Inside I feel fried and dried, liken to the way a lichen feels.
Humor has lost its appeal and tears no longer fill.
The corners of my visual field from which the universe is built.
How many times have I died? Lied? Been tried?
Why am I still alive? 
Where was the good wine spilled?
I never really liked pills.
I didn’t take the bait, never had a need that couldn’t wait.
But where did the feels go?
Lost to the sauce? Maybe…
That’s is why she stole my baby.
But I dealt with that, I got fat and off my back.
Oh my GOD so many nice sacks.
And doses too often split with more than a few.
But then there was you, spirit molecule.
Ripping my head apart by the follicles.
Are you responsible for this soulless desert?
Or are these just the cards we are dealt.
Feeling things that should have never been felt.
Climbing up the robes of GODS, discarding the role of cogs.
Here enters the endless fog the desert bog land of petrified logs.
I guess I should have stop licking frogs…

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