HAPPY poem?
Eudaemonia. Aristotle. Objectively happy.
Days and years
And a whole life searching for happy.
Its temporary permanence
Painted in the bruises,
The happy-search--
Black faded blue faded green
Faded a sick, sultry yellow.
Seek to grab that happy
And wring its filthy little neck
Dry of all its perfect, crimson blood.
Happy is the biggest flame.
It burns, chars the most unknowing flesh
Because it’s there; it’s visible--
We run
And we run, reaching for it,
But it never gets any closer.
Find it and
Kill yourself before it melts away.
Days and years
And a whole life searching for happy.
Its temporary permanence
Painted in the bruises,
The happy-search--
Black faded blue faded green
Faded a sick, sultry yellow.
Seek to grab that happy
And wring its filthy little neck
Dry of all its perfect, crimson blood.
Happy is the biggest flame.
It burns, chars the most unknowing flesh
Because it’s there; it’s visible--
We run
And we run, reaching for it,
But it never gets any closer.
Find it and
Kill yourself before it melts away.