PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

       Matt sat in the beanbag chair, playing his old 80s Nintendo and listening to that old song by "Gene Loves Jezebel." His throat quivered to hold back tears, as he fished through the soil of his thoughts, ever-so- thick with memories. They were fresh to him, that phone call with his only love. He felt as if he sat in a hurricane, and he waited in its winking eye.



        Mario bounced along his merry way on his television screen. Matt stared back blankly, absorbed and drowned in thought. What went wrong? Why had she gotten so upset? He felt that wretched stone of despair settle comfortably in his stomach. He was the real wretch. He was the real fuck-up, the thought. The night rambled on as his eyes aged and soon died. The stone in his stomach was now a mountain, as he weeped away to a desperate slumber.