You must login to vote
I am not sad nor hot,
but bothered and shot.
So I sit drenched
in this pool naked,
trying to take it-na-
I am kicking trying to break it.
The cycle, the floor, my leg, anything,
maybe I'm just faking it,
for the few lost souls whose attention deficit has faded.
Too many obvious choices,
so many all too familiar voices.
They are just monotnous noises
I canít listen, so I pretend it isnít.
I canít trust it, obviously I'm digusted
Mouths moving in non orchestral motions
these thoughts I too don't get..I just wrote them.
But to heal it, ya start with the mind.
Caressing the even less than jaded
is a gift and a task,
especially when it's mine.
I'll still feel like shit
and corrupt you.
Then we succumb
to the numb
And drift off far away
from where we were,
into a deep blue-er blur.
Deeper and deeper,
creeping into the danger to play.
There is no pain there,
but to remain there
would mean we would
lose the person we really are forever....
Which is really better?
--!/! ! !< #----
If a poet ruled the world......what a pleasant place it would be!