Sad Heart

I hate my day job.

I love a woman.

I can’t perceive that I will live the rest of my life doing what I do today.

I contemplate regularly killing myself, more often than you could imagine.

I wish I could see my niece and nephew every day.

I wish I had unlimited funds of money.

I wish I was a little taller.

Despite my great girth of my cock, I wish I was a little bit longer.

Sometimes I wish my nose sloped differently.

I wish my gut was smaller.

I don’t understand why there is crap at some galleries and I’m at none.

I wish I was a better poet.

I am darker than anyone can imagine.

Not my sister, not my one

Not a therapist, and not a psychoanalyst.

I’m dangerous. Be aware.

This is not a note of death.

Its truth. Its honesty. And I’m not afraid to admit it.

In the end, it’s just language, words written, a poem perhaps.

© 2007 David Greg Harth

07.04.24.14:15:08@205HudsonNYC