I Was Just Thinking
it's better to write alone
in a dark room
with a full bottle
and a heavy chest
in a dark room
with a full bottle
and a heavy chest
even when it’s all too much
the rain
the dark
the solitary thump of the heart
the rain
the dark
the solitary thump of the heart
all of that
is better than suffering
her
is better than suffering
her
because, clearly
she wanted me
dead
she wanted me
dead
Aftermath
sitting all day
in a chair
banging out fragments of myself
the ones lodged in the bones
of a bird
failing victorious
banging out fragments of myself
the ones lodged in the bones
of a bird
failing victorious
A.g. Synclair is an unapologetic pessimist, rule breaker, and rebel without a clue. When he isn't editing The Montucky Review and serving on the editorial staff of The Bookends Review, he is drinking from glasses that are perpetually half empty and hiding from the sun, which is clearly trying to kill him. Despite being extensively published around the globe, he flies under the radar. Deftly.
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