WHY I STAY

“WHY I STAY”

BY SHEB SCHEBELLA

Well the good news has been scratched away from the lenses of my eyes and even through the years of tears and countless beers I still can’t see why through the shallow conversations of my fellow man why do I still want to stay and play. It just seems to me most people these days don’t have stories but merely incidents in their humdrum days of self-containment  while allowing themselves to be force fed by the Christian hand of gluttony, oh how they all want a label of their own and a title to bestow. All I really want to hear is a soft whisper of a twelve string guitar and feel the warmth of another body that knows how to tell a story and color it to with echoes of laughter while a puppy dog’s tail is strumming the ground. When did a camp fire become a place to go and text and other hand held electronics are used to describe to another how strangely bright the stars are on a particular night? The world has become hollow and thoughts without action outline what little response most have. As I watch them pass around the Xanax and pour out some more boxed white, and just prior to their livers shutting down as they approach blackout close to midnight I may find them enjoyable just enough to stay for just one more round; but really it is not until they all leave and I sit there alone and wait for that friend and lover to get back home do I find my vision begin to restore and the canvas of my thoughts is wiped clear at the sense of them approaching near, this is my good news; I no longer keep track of the calendar only the blossoms on the trees, this is why I stay…