Wrist Cutter Blues
by Michael Doyle

She was born hard to impress
He was maybe overly dressed
For a boy deep in his thoughts
But she could never be bought

They were standing in the deep end
Somehow waiting for a friend
Neither of them was from anywhere
That anyone would ever care

A slice of the wrist
Neither would be missed
When your life has been Hell
The afterlife is hard to tell

Sylvia's head was in the oven
John wandered off the path and Steven?
Some suspect that he only fell
He was the only one happy here in Hell...

It seems we all have small regrets
Some sort of jokes that we forget
With false punchlines that are invisible
We would laugh, as if we were capable

There are a lot of empty people
Who are wondering about the meaning of life
Hoping a prayer at the marble steeple
That it's more than a cold brew with a warm slice

It's there in the patterns and the mistakes
That we're doomed to repeat our heartbreaks
Everyone is just kind of muddling through
Stuck here with everyone else in the wrist cutter blues

(c) February 21, 2025   Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved