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Pestlementitis

A crying drunk and tears on my sleeves                                                                                                                             A bleeding heart all over the page                                                                                                                                        So deep and profound                                                                                                                                                       Letting go with the pen                                                                                                                                                                Is this lfe about to end                                                                                                                                                      While another one begins                                                                                                                                                               A writing frenzy spurned on by intoxication                                                                                                                                  The thoughts seem now like putrefaction                                                                                                              Between the self-loathing tear stains smudged in time                                                                                                 Broken thoughts and a half empty pen                                                                                                                                   The readable crapula a very made head ache                                                                                                                        And something scribbled in crayon                                                                                                                                                                 I think not to ever do it again

Copyright © John Beam | Year Posted 2016

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John Beam Date: 12/3/2016 7:39:00 AM 1) pestilence (n.) c. 1300, from Old French pestilence "plague, epidemic"2) French -ment, from Late Latin mente(m), accusative singular of mens ?(“mind”)3) [Greek feminine form of adjectives ending in -ites.] The ending is often used facetiously in temporary formations that refer to some state of mind Login to Reply

John Beam Date: 12/3/2016 7:37:00 AM Pestlementitis - May sound like an actual word it is not I made it up to describe the poem - the meaning is a plagued state of mind Login to Reply

Darren White Date: 12/3/2016 4:26:00 AM I recognize this... It's honest and painful too. Good luck in the contest. Login to Reply John Beam Date: 12/3/2016 7:08:00 AM Thanks Darren

Doug Vinson Date: 12/2/2016 10:16:00 AM John, this is it. This is *so* it. Take 28 and divide it by 4, that's what you're gettin,' no regrettin', your score. Login to Reply John Beam Date: 12/2/2016 10:24:00 AM Thanks again Doug. I have not had the time to set down and just write. Thanks for the encouragement.