Written by Steve Naisbitt

Open-chested despair

guns-cigars-whiskey

 

Not a day passes when I don’t feel I’d be better off

dead.

Yesterday I saw a girl in the market, looked like the daughter,

not of my blood,

I abandoned – to save my wretched sanity.

That was all it took…

Misery invades my veins like adrenaline’s nemesis.

Making me ache for a citizenship

that would grant me the opportunity

to put a gun in my mouth…

 

 

I am so deeply pervadingly lonely.

 

 

This world’s inequities rain on my parchment thin hide, like ice-picks

While I’m assaulted with unwanted empathetic noise…

 

Who bleeds for me?

 

Love?

I don’t even know what the fuck that means anymore.

Hope?

That requires a heart

mine is broken.

Thing about Death & dark thoughts – is that they come out easier

when I water my decaying soul with poison.

Inch closer to the time I get it right

find the courage or sink deep enough

to end

one Bulleit at a time.

Introspection laced with self-loathing, in a 1.6 fl oz caliber

Riddled with Rye, cured in Cuban.

I taste nice, if anyone would like a last kiss?

This cultured post-combatant has fancy standards, after all.

One 9mm hollow point would do

So I could paint the back bar with my pain.

And be done with this

 

 

6 thoughts on “Open-chested despair”

  1. I had the BRIEFEST time feeling this way, so I cannot know how you feel nor can I fully empathise (noisily or otherwise). What I do know, and what I can relate to is how lonely feels. I’m no longer lonely but learning how not to be is different for everyone and I’m not here to preach. Keep writing and as much as possible. Take a holiday to somewhere beautiful!! (I know you want to haha).

    This is beautifully written, as ever. I wish that you could find joy in your talent, Steve, or at least let it HEAL you!

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    1. Thank you Allane. I appreciate the love. I can’t find joy in anything right now, though. The work on my second novel keeps my mind off my heartbreak. Thank you for commenting. It means more than you know. X

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      1. I’m glad your writing does that. I reckon writing, photography and my kids saved me. It’s never the big things that do it (in my experience)

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