so here you are, night.
i asked for you in anger;
i cursed your name, called you God damned.
i thought that i could shoot your blackness in the veins,
to seize the pain in the soul.
in my selfishness i forgot,
i forgot that the sorrow’s spoon is too big
to boil you down.
oh soothing night,
how your wicked hands do prick me
with the needles of our thoughts,
so dirty and despondent.
i beg, i kneel and writhe away,
but he cannot hear
an atheist to our sleepy weakling
of a love.
whispers and tiredness travels through us
you are here my dreary night
our grave our hole our life.
“i observe the world around me then translate what i see through words and visuals as a form of meditation and at times penance.”
mb was born and raised in urban Los Angeles and is a Gen X’er who chronicles and scrawls about the art form of living in the Angelino metropolitan environment. these offerings are inspired by the mental health crisis in the city, everyday observations, and human nature interjected with fiction based on non-fictional events.