moody in june

Sadness, or this dull throbbing
Has rendered me slow and heavy.
Dragging thru the days like a dishrag

Punctuated by real emotion, for no, I am not a zombie! Not the undead. I feel stuffed tho.
Mounted, on a plaque or base.
Posed in my most natural postion in a box, painted to look ike my natural habitat

Where have the days gone?
Me a slow, comatose, cumbersome character.
Unsavory.
Ignoble.

What to say , are there real words?
There is lead
Where my vital organs should be.
I’d love to sleep in the sun, for years, months. Void. But not death, to feel the warmth of the sun.
Just void. Or perhaps to cry.
But not to sit, alone, cracked like dry desert mud, with nothing to expend.
I cant explode, for I am merely smoldering.

Who replaced my eyes with beads?
Who filled my veins with stones?

Who painted my life beige….who.

Sawdust, sand and granite all have more meaning than I.
I would not float in the Dead sea.