He was damaged goods,
or so his thoughts screamed.
A spoiled meal
left far too long to serve.
A whipped ice cream dripped
over the paving slabs
that time never cleans.
His sentence served
on the rubbish heap of time.
Undeserved, but it seemed
like the unreserved seating
had been replaced
by this sense of waste.
Standing room only
and his feet - already wracked,
Pain leapt up us legs to his back.
and now he was left displaced.
The only place his dreams still lived,
was somewhere
hidden away deep within,
where his seeking eyes
couldn't see, and his ears
could only tune to one frequency.
Just white noise
upon a static soundscape.
A chalkboard fingernail scrape
of yesterdays nightmares,
torn into the warning label of a red flag,
like a worn-out shopping bag
tearing apart at the seams,
ready to dump all your stuff
over this one-way street
of bad dreams.
He fell into a whirlpool haze
the cyclical lifestyle,
the endless trudge of denial.
Escape. Escape. Escape.
Scrape by a few more days
to find just a few more ways
to get his parts to make sense.
Sticking tape over his torn heart,
to keep its contents from pouring
through the hole that is tearing him apart.
Escape. Escape. Escape.
Sometimes there is no saviour
in a flowing cape,
just a vampire
with a smirk on their face,
sucking away at the blood
you leave in your wake.
The one thing
that made you feel human,
to feel a part of this place.
Thanks for reading
Follow this link for more.
https://linktr.ee/Wordsandfluff
continue to do this.
Peace, Love & Poetry
Kyle
No comments:
Post a Comment