That gnawing feeling,
well within,
sometimes caused by
a brief glimpse
of a life you’ll never have,
that smile she’ll never wear.
Tried to fill it
with a bottle.
Tried to fill it
with fire.
You’ve never had much success
in pushing down the demons,
or burning them out.
How is it that you can be
so full of them,
and still be
so empty?
Tags:
alcoholism,
arson,
blue-eyed man,
family,
love,
pain,
poem,
poems,
poetry,
relationships,
writing
About Catastrophe Jones
Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
Good stuff, Jones. I wonder if anyone thinks of me this way. I wonder.