I used to cry over the lines
At my ability to draw outside them.
Whether it was pen,
My concentration would slip
And imperfection would strike again.
So why, after all that,
Do I find myself stuck
Wanting nothing more than to escape
Those lines I tried so hard not to break
What if in the end
They cut us down,
And all that’s found is the rings.
The circles presenting our being
Our our repetition.
The only thing left of our potential
Rotting there in the ground.
By the end of Sisyphus Part 4 I didn’t know who I was anymore
Ageless and nameless I melt in the rain
You’re doubting me, timing me,
Daring me to get up again
And is it any wonder when I do?
Do these failings still come as a surprise to you?
In a minute I’m busy.
Some thoughts they surround me
I’m barreling through the rain:
Waiting to be caught.
Wilting under and then growing into the pain
I’m finding you;
I’ll be home soon.
Look for me sighing,
Somewhere under the moon
I think of things that scare me
Sometimes in the dark of night
A scratching at the window
Is all it takes to switch on the light.
I creep around, keeping watch,
Making sure every bolt is safely locked.
I know it’s a silly notion,
Living on the third floor,
Sometimes still I imagine a shape,
Silhouetted beyond the balcony door.
Never know who I’m going to lose
Waste of space
Time and place
Dusty orange sunsets accent outer space
Matter of time
Lose my rhyme
And I can’t find the reason, anymore.
In the quiet
No one watches
No one judges
No one holds expectations
For a moment I don’t exist
And I’m grateful for the dark
Posting schedule? What posting schedule?
Oh my gosh I’ve been so inconsistent this summer. I blame the awful heat. Since school has started back up I should be back on track posting-wise though!
Who can see me through this guise,
My poorly hidden pantomimes.
I’m looking at my overbite,
My worry lines, unsightly eyes.
And once I’ve beaten all the drums,
The meter’s set, my day is done,
They’ve taken off all at a run
And I’ll be here left in disquiet
She drinks Coffee Mate
While I passively expire
She’ll soon be dead
Why don’t you come and join me by the fire
She’ll dress in fleece
I think I’ll go lie down awhile
Her dress is tatters
I guess we’ll all go out in style
My mind speaks volumes
I won’t say a word
(Mama said she’d buy me a mockingbird)
Indentured to sickness
She won’t stand a chance
Bejeweled wings flutter a commonplace dance
(If that mockingbird don’t sing)
A value of equal to or less in stature than
Some thing left to squaller
I’ve muddled it, and,
(Mama said she’d buy me a diamond ring)
For too late I find, I’ve lost peace of mind,
And those thoughts are loud enough to ponder.
Inspiration on thin ice
Those melodies don’t play nice
When you’re underground
Hairlines gathering dust
They concede that you must comply,
For at least what’s under my