To whom it may concern:
I hope all is well. I am writing to follow up on my application for felicity. I spend my days counting the seconds between lightning and thunder, so feel free to contact me anytime.
I applied for the emotion 22 years ago and still have the paperwork (I can attach the certificate in a message if you’d like). See my attached resume for several examples of how bliss has escaped me throughout my tenure here.
Now, I am not a blind man; I see the efforts that were made. But I am still in the cycle, and recently, I have begun to feel less than a gear. And today, today is not a good day.
I see you brought everything you have; tossing buckets on my window, dimming the day, and laying collared shirt pelts on the path to prosperity. I do not want to prosper, I want to be pacified. I am here, but that is all.
I think about the stale rain droplets all day; I feel for them. They are stagnant and waiting. Are they living in ecstasy? Can you at least answer me that? Are my fingernails in the crevices of my couch glad?
Again, I am writing to follow up on my application. Considering the reasons I listed above, I believe my request for felicity is due. I will follow up in another five years, but after that, who knows? You, probably.
Questions I will ask later
Jogging gray gravel split by yellow paint
Do you feel my feet?
Thin gray cloud puffed and erased
Am I breathing?
Swirling liquid brown old leather couch aroma
Can you warm my insides?
Inked pages passing shreds of the message
Would you spill your secrets?
Why do I scar you?
Harmony of strings and percussion
Can you feel my beat?
Passing faces shrouded in the day’s mask
Is the mirror clean?
Good sense giggling and grazing legs
Why must I raise my voice?
Pentagon of limbs
Which direction is it now?
Howling city folk
Did you forget the forest?
Why do I fear you in my sleep?
Why did I only bring ink?
Why do I feel uninspired?
Would you hold until I blink?
Why do you look tasty?
Why do I pluck you?
Why do I try to set an alarm?
What is your cost?
Can you open my eyes once more?
Nick Boyer is an emerging poet writing in Upstate New York. He recently self-published his debut novel, Steady Progress Home, and his poetry has been published in Taj Mahal Review. More of his writing can be found on the web at poetryforthegrave.com or @poetryforthegrave on Instagram.
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