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The Afterlife Of The After Party
written by: Amel Bashford
I write from a hardly healing heart,
Of tired cliches that catch in my chest
As I vomit forth stanza after stanza
Of indigestible inadequacy.
They say that the best inspiration
Comes from a broken heart
Then why do the words fail me?
Those mellifluous metaphors
Are phantoms of a better time
My broken body and broken mind
Have stranded me in memories,
As I stand looking in the mirror
Thinking, where the hell did the party go?
My life has become a roundabout
And I hover on the precipice
Never knowing when it's time
To close my eyes and jump.
Consumed with fear at the prospect
That I missed my shot and this is my lot.
To watch with frustrated impotence
As the world races on without me.