August 14, 2010

#532 wasted

self-pity and self-anger shroud me
and the hangover and last night's memories
refuse to help me
i stand here
at the bottom of an old-fashion well
daylight, sunshine
are visible, and close
but out of reach
and they feel miles away,
a different existence

and so i stare at the stale dark walls
not because i like them
but because looking up
hurts

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