All things Vintage

All things Vintage

What keeps me sane and keeps me whole?
I’m nothing but a vintage soul.
I bleed the love and write the pain,
The tears that drip: never in vain.

A poet’s heart, a troubled mind,
A past that hasn’t been so kind.
“A bit dramatic”, those label me,
And I’ve embraced reluctantly.

To sever ties is what I yearn,
But to not love, I’ll never learn.
This pen I use to make some sense,
The hurt I feel is so immense.

A pain that’s wicked and very old,
An impaired heart I’m meant to hold.
This sense of loss; as old as time,
A vintaged grief detailed in rhyme.

And as I write my hand does cramp,
Depression comes and leaves a stamp.
A sweet reminder, a gentle nudge,
The demons say: “We’ll never budge”.

And as I ponder, I have reckoned,
These thoughts don’t leave not for a second.
They never do, they’re present still,
Another bottle, another pill.

These dreadful lines are all I see,
My heart will be the death of me