Member-only story
Suburban Blues
As I lie here
Between these perfect sheets
I wonder
Is this all that I need?
Sedated, almost drowning
In the comfortable numbness
I find myself howling
To the Moon instead
Why these nick-nacks?
Why are these of such importance?
The quest for IKEAesque perfection
The allure of this, the great seduction
It permeates, it creeps into our lives
It seeks to destroy
The fire burning, churning
In our once known insides
Time after time
We arrive at this place
Soon, no place to hide
It will, unfortunately, spill like wine
Forgetting is like the wind
It comes and goes
Remembering, more like a stone
Hard and it takes time to formulate
If I speak, does it seem so bleak?
Does it seem ungrateful, or even meek?
I assure You, it’s neither
Instead, it’s the voice of reason
