I can see them staring at me
boring holes with sland'ring eyes
my gaze fixates on the dirty reflection
half real, half dream, half manic, half wise
Forehead caked with oil and grime
hair like hanks of lank soiled rope
repulsive self how you daily betray me
and laugh as you dance in my wretched hope
One flash without time of burning sunlight
a beam that lances through prison bars
oh fill me and break me and scatter my pieces
I'll gather them up in forgotten jars
Build me a life of 'never's and 'maybe's
plant me a garden of lavender pain
we'll live in a cottage where light cannot find us
behind windows washed grey by the rain















Comments
ps. and the best poems are always written at night. mostly around midnight.
--
[my life as a hallelujah to his name. [link] ]
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