A Gloomy Day

The empty bottle of gin,

the guitar in the corner,

the photo frame on the table,

the poster on the wall, from which Eddie

stares at me angrily,

they all remind me of this gloomy day;

everyday is a gloomy day,

when there is no definite

purpose, nor a fixed aim;

Numbness strikes from front and from back,

the owl on the tree branch

just out the window; it looks

with big bulgy eyes, at mine, dull and pale and cringy,

as I blow the remaining hope up in smokes,

and gulp the last morsel of passion

with the last remaining sip.