Spring | Whiskey and Words

A row of barstools
has decayed from loneliness
and the curb outside
crumbles from neglect.
These days
swing from
apathy to anger
and back.
Thoughts of suicide
to hope
and back
while the spring
can’t decide
what it will do
and each gust of wind
is an insult
and each voice you hear
is a lie
and that skiff of snow
burns
and the sunshine
freezes
and every greeting
is a rejection
and every touch
a betrayal
and no matter
what crowd you’re in
and who claims
they love you,
you’re alone as you
drown in flames
and your cries
are silent
and you just get on with it
because of one
inkling
of
delusional
hope
that things
will get better.

– Ian A Dundas