{"sf1_id":725529,"sf2_id":"GnDQrlx1","title":"Clearing My Head","author":"cnbfox","words":310,"posted_at":"2014-07-03T10:46:00.000Z","tags":["Alcohol","Poetry","loneliness"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/725529-clearing-my-head","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/GnDQrlx1","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/8c/eb/8ceb30bf-52d0-4d2a-aeab-7a5e5a02ddc7","description":"#7 of Poetry\n\nHere is a poem I wrote three years ago just a few weeks before Christmas. I was having a rough day and as usual I let my paper and pen help clear my head.","content":"Give me a minute to take somethings off my mind.  \n  \nTime wounds all heals, the sound of a broken record  \n  \nBeing played in the background, another day in the life of a shadow  \n  \nWalking down the street looking back at his life, thinking what would it be like  \n  \nWith a dad in his life, he picks up the pieces and moves on, but the pain still lingers  \n  \nSo he takes another drink and swallows his pride, knows there's no turning back.  \n  \nThis road he's on has no end, only a start and plenty of crossroads, but no exit in sight.  \n  \nSo he drinks his life away and swallows his pride, won't stand up, and always backs  \n  \nDown. Lays down and quits, accepts things for what it's worth. Says yes when he  \n  \nWants to say no, keeps going when there's nothing left to give, a broken heart and  \n  \nA lost soul. Nobody really knows him, so he keeps to himself, a broken  \n  \nBottle on his nightstand and broken hearts under his bed.  \n  \nDoesn't seem to care, wants a way out, but the only way he sees is six feet deep in an  \n  \nAbandoned grave. People love him, but he can't seem to understand why,  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; He gives his all, but that's all he can give and at times it ain't worth it,  \n  \nSo he trudges on and feels his mind with grief, till he's at a bitter stand still  \n  \nWishes he could put a gun to his head and end this dead end road,  \n  \nBut the beer he drinks soothes his soul.  \n  \nPoisoning his heart and his mind, till he feels nothing at all.  \n  \nLove is just a memory, a dream that doesn't seem to exist.  \n  \nHe pushes down desire, and keeps a straight face.  \n  \nWill anyone listen will anyone care, to the words of a shadow that isn't even there?  \n  \n  \n\n","series":{"name":"Poetry","previous":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/232168-voices.json","next":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/804632-writer-s-block.json"}}