Tomorrow Will Be Better

Sure it hurts today
dreams bashed
heart crashed
I'm smashed.
Scotch rocks
knocks the heartbreak out,
drowns the sorrow.
But tomorrow
will be better
won't it?
Anything's got to be better
than to be this bitter.
The glitter of infatuation
has washed down the drain,
but that scummy ring of pain
still lines the sink.

My life seems to have sunk.
And I'm drunk,
trying to remember why I think
that writing this stinking poem
will make it better.
But that inner voice that's helped me
climb out of this valley
before rings in my ear,
trying to get my attention,
trying to make me hear
it above the noise in this bar.

"You ARE
going to get over this
heartache,
and maybe even
the morning after headache.
Roll over, hangover!
Pain, pain, go away,
tomorrow will be a better day!"

Decide

A loud laugh,
a piercing phrase;
unwanted words invade
and break the silence of this subway car
and void the isolation I try to create.

Talk talk talk. Stop.
Time for action.

Indecision is fog,
thick and dense,
limiting vision,
seeping into pores
and sapping the soul.

Decision clears the air
and carves a clean path
through valleys and hills
of indecision;
eliminates the unwanted.