You Can Call Me Al

You Can Call Me Al

Apr 17, 2018
And by irony, I mean how you want to want something different or better but you can't if your life has just become a gigantic pile of apathy. It's the lowest form of depression for me, so I wrote about it. I shared some of my writing the other day for the first time, and as I mentioned, it felt good to purge words that I haven't and could never share with anyone else. It also meant a lot to hear others say how much they could relate, I don't get that in the "real world"...


She'll come like a fog in the night, consuming your guise
Reeking like a sweet acid to dissolve the metaphors you won't forgive
And slowly you'll surrender, watching her shred the last of your fever
Then so inviting, dressed like ambrosia
She'll hand you sleep and you'll drink it
Forgetting not to gasp like it's the last thing to sustain you
Drenching the depth of your fire

She told you her name is Safety, but don't be fooled,
She really means Apathy
Lucid she waits, painting herself in your walls
An arrangement with silence
You no longer pine for your own heart throb
Dully noticing it's too late to realize,
There's not a worse color than emptiness
Carving out the places pain could reside

Such a promise that you'll never be lonely again
Sealed with a kiss was her reminder that it only hurts for a breath
Just pit yourself of the possibilities of loss
And watch as she devours and empties the rest
Letting dust gather on the memories that went wrong
Bleakly settling in your remains, a bitter existence
Who leaves no room to even remember the name of Regret
So you can miss the pieces that she lost