Melancholia

 the history of melancholia
includes all of us.
 
me, I writhe in dirty sheets
while staring at blue walls
and nothing.
 
I have gotten so used to melancholia
that 
I greet it like an old 
friend.
 
I will now do 15 minutes of grieving
for the lost redhead,
I tell the gods.
 
I do it and feel quite bad
quite sad,
then I rise
CLEANSED
even though nothing 
is solved.
 
that's what I get for kicking 
religion in the ass.
 
I should have kicked the redhead
in the ass
where her brains and her bread and
butter are
at .
.
.
 
but, no, I've felt sad
about everything:
the lost redhead was just another
smash in a lifelong
loss .
.
.
 
I listen to drums on the radio now
and grin.

there is something wrong with me
besides
melancholia.

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