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Literature Text
Sometimes the sadness is so great it comes out of you, like them angels that can only sing one song.
Sometimes it's the difference between living with regret and ending it all.
"Hush your moaning," she says.
Well the drink don't help it
"Might as well do something useful, now you're back."
Well the drink don't help none
"We managed just fine without you."
If the drink don't help, then I'll pray to God
"Would be better if they'd never let you out."
And I'll get my gun
And I'll get my gun
And sometimes the singing makes it worse.
A flash or micro fiction of 100 words riffing on the theme of misery and death in a dust-bowl, released-from-prison sort of way
© 2011 - 2024 BabsGrib
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