Melancholia

the history of melancholia

includes all of us.

me, I writhe in dirty sheets

while staring at blue walls

and nothing.

I have gotten so used to melancholia

that

I greet it like an old

friend.

I will now do 15 minutes of grieving

for the lost redhead,

I tell the gods.

I do it and feel quite bad

quite sad,

then I rise

CLEANSED

even though nothing

is solved.

that’s what I get for kicking

religion in the ass.

I should have kicked the redhead

in the ass

where her brains and her bread and

butter are

at …

but, no, I’ve felt sad

about everything:

the lost redhead was just another

smash in a lifelong

loss …

I listen to drums on the radio now

and grin.

there is something wrong with me

besides

melancholia.