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I'm dragging my sorry self out of the dumps.
The view's pretty dismal down here,
and though it's quite cosy, the locals are nosy,
they thrive upon sadness and fear.
I'm dragging my sorry self out of the dumps.
'Can't breathe in this fug of despair.
I'm so claustrophobic, though not anaerobic--
I'm losing my sparkle and flair.
I'm gonna be happy-go-lucky,
count blessings instead of mistakes.
I'm dragging my sorry self out of the dumps,
before the best part of me breaks.
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Author Notes
I'm sorry that my last few poems have been on the blue, dark, grumbly and grumpy side! I'm addressing it and I promise to cheer the hell up ;)
Fug - An airless, smoky, smelly atmosphere.
Anaerobic - Living or active in the absence of free oxygen.
Poem is metered and rhymed, though not to any particular form!
Image courtesy of pattigirl on FanArtReview
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