Falling through the middle of the holes inside his head
he wakes up in the morning and forgets the nights he spends
Chasing melancholia, he drinks until he’s skunked
cuz anything is better than a cloudy blue funk.
He knows anything is better than a cloudy blue funk.
Brenda Warren 2012
This piece was prompted by Trifecta and their Monday challenge. It is a piece I’d like to work into a blues ballad. Time is quickly lapsing in the challenge, so I will submit what is complete. When (if) I continue/finish this piece, I’ll link to it in an upcoming challenge(for anyone interested in a read).
Thanks for reading, and for these challenges. It’s a fun ride.