Black Dog Days
My mind is confined
I exist behind locked doors
And I swear to god
There’s no pleasure anymore
No pleasure anymore
No pleasure at all
Just a stifling pressure
That leaves you groping for the wall
And just when you think
You can’t take it anymore
An overwhelming enormity
Leaves you choking on the floor
It quickens your breathing
And it blurs your sight
Arms outstretched
Begging for respite
While my mind remains imprisoned
Behind these multitude of doors
Cursed is the life
Where there’s no pleasure anymore
Not sleeping nor eating nor drinking nor sex
Not booze nor fags nor filthy texts
Not music nor sport nor art nor culture
Not memories of the past nor plans for the future
Nor any other aspect of this life
That creaks and groans and bores
And makes me resent
That there’s no pleasure anymore
Mirrors become abhorrent
Because they multiply disgust
Observed by my crumpled reflection
Fractured and concussed
I am but a surface
A composite man
A stretched skin canvas
An elaborate sham
Stalked by a clandestine assailant
Without cause and without motive
Who incrementally drains my will
Without hint and without notice
My broken record brain
Recites the same speech contemptuously
To my long suffering friends
While the grey grows exponentially
Struggling to articulate
How I’m rotting to my core
Crushing is the life
Where there’s no pleasure anymore
Not drugs nor gambling nor stockings nor fishnets
Not nights on the tiles nor DVD boxsets
Not stoic celibacy nor ritualistic masturbation
Not frenzied hedonism nor transcendental meditation
Nor any other aspect of this life
That creaks and groans and bores
And makes me resent
That there’s no pleasure anymore
