Mediocre never looked so nice

I feel like I got robbed

By the perfect criminal.

Worth more than gold

my affection, acknowledged,

 and promptly snuffed out.

I’ve been robbed

by a thief whose face I know,

but have never seen.

I have no rights however,

wrapped in self-pity

 I lost the chance I never had.

To all the lovers who took from me,

asked for keeps only to return damaged,

which way is the exit?

I don’t think I can afford this anymore.

The sun breaks through the slats of the white faux wood window blinds, rays hitting my face ever so gently. I toss betwixt my sheets wondering which thief hustled off with my shut-eye and how could they possibly make time fly that fast? As my feet hit the ground I shudder, I forgot what it feels like to not soar. The rough ground makes me question getting out of bed today. I stand for a moment only to sit back down, I sit for a long while; the day grows long outside my window. I can sleep just a little bit longer.

I am growing a shell,

of drugs, sex, lies, and hurt.

It grows heavy on my back, making it difficult to,

lurch onwards.   

With my vice as my armor

I wave my axe (handle of whiskey, blade sharp as my sober mind),

oblivious to the fact that my enemies seem to shed my own blood.