I watch days
turn to years.
Silent resentment
in a weary sigh,
at the way
the waving clock hands
seem to move
more than I.
Watching paint dry
would have been more
enticing than this
so called silver lining.
Surviving for what?
A life lived
in fear of leaving.
A life lived in fear of living.
At each click
of the digital clock,
I seethe inside. A monologue,
pointing out where
I’m going wrong in life.
Tick tock,
replies the analogue
mocking face on the wall.
As if I don't already see the irony,
of wanting to feel a part of life,
but being too scared
to accept my own place in it all.
I've already sat spending
years watching,
in slow motion,
my own existence
go nowhere fast.
Whilst everyone else
moved in real time
leaving me languishing
in the past.
Watching myself
fade into the mirror,
my own slow suicide.
Becoming greyer by the day,
Before I know it,
I'll just be
a mass of grey hair
and saggy eye bags.
I witness age wear my face
as it walks into the day,
leaving my skeleton behind,
raging at the way
I can't get my mind to engage.
Escape would be so easy
if it wasn't behind a doorway.
In a fit of anger
I take out my pen.
So, I'm supposed
to be a writer, I say.
Thats what I've always
claimed to be.
Time to let those
words become true.
If I can understand me,
maybe I'll understand
the world I view,
and maybe then I'll be able
to share some of this
story with you.
Thanks for reading
Follow this link for more.
https://linktr.ee/Wordsandfluff
You can find my New books
"Tales from the 44A" and "Stations
here
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0DBKXPN13/
and here
continue to do this.
Peace, Love & Poetry
Kyle
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