nowhere north of north texas

4:19 a.m.
nowhere north of North Texas.
leaky roof,
summertime blues that wont shake away.
good rain wont wash away bad memories and all I can think about
are the size of the green and yellow grasshoppers.

bad poems can't cure bad nights,
but a sense of falling into the word can.

I want to hold onto what I can no longer have,
a love gone like a typical love song.

but hell, it hurts,
it hurts when I don't know why or how.
it hurts when rogue thoughts come tearing up my brain.
it hurts and it's been hurting for 8 years
and there's no help for people like me.

just more summertime blues.
winter blues, fall blues, spring blues, summer blues,
blues all year long, blues for decades,
blues for a lifetime.
blues for everyone.

the hurt becomes a part of who you are
and then it is ok to be hurt,
it is ok to be damaged,
to be imperfect, with character,
but cursed
by the most irreversible of things.

the disease of the brain.

one of which one can never be free.

you will die with it alone,
forgotten,
like the end of this mediocre sappy trash