dead cacti

he told himself
even a cactus
will die left
out in the gravel
and he felt it
deep in his bones
tweren’t no rains
acoming anytime soon

another quiet night
as he contemplates
one year sliding
its way into the
loose fitting corpse
of the last shitty one

he would make changes
stop giving more
than an apathetic world
would ever give back
no more sad bullshit
concentrate on the goals
instead of letting life
whittle him to nothing
but scraps blowing on
the cold january wind

wilted cacti and sad poets
spend too much time
needing the things that
ain’t no one handing out
a dry patch of dirt
untethered to the coil
of life’s saggy teat
a conundrum in sorrows
dipped in death’s embrace

he told himself
it would be different
things would work out
and the ceiling hung
bored and aloof
as he rolled over
and muttered his love
into the darkness
held close by the silence
that sums up his days

2 thoughts on “dead cacti

  1. I felt compelled to read this one several times. Your word choices and tone were interesting. This line…
    “wilted cacti and sad poets
    spend too much time
    needing the things that
    ain’t no one handing out”

    Liked by 1 person

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