bone dry on angst

i feel like i've been writing too

many fun

and happy, sarcastic, sardonic

and silly poems lately.

this worries me, being so content

almost happy.

i should really see my doctor

about this.

i need to write a sad poem.

a dark, bleak piece.

something that dredges up

the past, death and dying.

sickness.

something involving the pandemic

of love.

but i've got nothing, at the moment.

i need  a break up

or something.

divorce, betrayal.

something along those lines.

i need an angry client, or neighbor,

road rage.

i need an ex wife to show up

again and put me through a living

hell.

i'm empty on sad poems at the moment.

the well is bone dry

right now on angst.

maybe tomorrow.