Not Present from Pseudocide by John Parker, Jr.

Call me your right hand. You’re my best friend. I don’t have words for you. I got your letter, my response to pen, but now it seems my hand’s gone mute.

Should I say, “I’m in the basement. My life is a blood-soaked mess. I can’t sleep because I can’t get you out of my head.” I quit drinking, but it can’t kill my loneliness. I’m not present. It does my head in.

Now all I’ve got left is this picture of you from the day that I left. Now we’re so far removed. And sometimes I still try to reason with you. But your picture looks back, and she isn’t amused.

I said, “I liked you better with blonde hair and glasses, cause once you went natural and put in your contacts, the world got as dark as the darkest of shades in your hair. And I couldn’t talk to you. You didn’t care.”

Should I say, “I’m in the basement. My life is a blood-soaked mess. I can’t sleep because I can’t get you out of my head.” I quit drinking, but it can’t kill my loneliness. I’m not present. It does my head in.

• Alternative
• Lo-fi
• acoustic
• folk punk
• indie
• punk
• New Bern