mmmmmxxxi

I haven’t felt this alone
since yesterday.  Counting
backwards from a thousand
would be just as easy.  To turn
this pout into anything that 
holds even a nib of pleasantry,
isn’t that all I want?  Isn’t it?
Maybe my goal is to mope.  It
repulses just to shine a thought
in that direction, but this is me,
I just know it (like I often know
myself) and certainly cannot shake
the darkness from my character at
this hour.  The damage is done, I know.
But if I could just bathe for a bit within
an Easter pastel, and it is the season,
would that begin to satisfy?  Was my 

mood bruised by the evening’s odd 

hellbent thunderstorm?  Downpours 

often rather bring me to at least a
swifter speed, much like a metal band’s
drummer encaged in a concert for 

a fifteen minute solo.  Would that 

such would quicken as it once
did.  Or white chocolate bunnies, like 

the ones I’d get in my basket, special, 

because I disliked regular-colored bunny 

chocolate.  I feel tonight as if I never even 

liked the white chocolate ones.  And yet I’d 

lie to myself and to these walls that are my 

closest friends tonight, just to keep the gloom.
It’s the bohemian life, Del!  Which, like every other
life must surely be this same color of pewter, at 

least for the duration of tonight’s eternity.