Charles Bukowski Art

There isn’t much there at the moment, I’ve felt lost for months. I grip on, hold tight but then I slip again. I dream of faces but they’re not familiar. I dream of scents on shirts but they’re not yours. I feel safe and then I feel pushed back again, why do you do this to me? There is no escape. You have the bottom of a whiskey bottle, I have my paper and pen but it consumes me. I am stuck, I’m tired and I’m tied to you. You wonder why the thought of marriage makes me nauseas, well this is why! You say “you used to be a free soul, so wild and happy! What happened to you? ” well can’t you see… I was, I have been and now I’m locked from head to toe with nowhere to go. That time has passed, my eyes are heavy, my heart is weak, my arms have grown tired and my mouth can’t speak. I’m locked in this cage, and it’s crushing me.

I have gotten so used to melancholia that I greet it like an old friend.

The flesh covers the bone  and they put a mind  in there and  sometimes a soul,  and the women break  vases against the walls  and the men drink too  much  and nobody finds the  one  but keep  looking  crawling in and out  of beds.  flesh covers  the bone and the  flesh searches  for more than  flesh.   there’s no chance  at all:  we are all trapped  by a singular  fate.   nobody ever finds  the one.   the city dumps fill  the junkyards fill  the madhouses fill  the hospitals fill  the graveyards fill  nothing else  fills.

We are like roses that have never bothered to bloom when we should have bloomed and it is as if the sun has become disgusted with waiting.

We don’t even ask for happiness, just a little less pain.”

Understand me. I’m not like an ordinary world. I have my madness, I live in another dimension and I do not have time for things that have no soul.