Sunday Afternoon

Open windows make music across empty beer bottles scattered round the kitchen. Low hum of depression. Somehow, there's still beauty. I find that in everything, but me. The mess adds to the tension. A heavy self-pity. It simmers just underneath. An emotion drenched scream. Spiraling, ungracefully - never in the appropriate direction. Shake it off violently. Pretend all is okay. Hard lesson accepting less than perfection.