***
It was dinner time.
Voices were echoing through the table,
Yet my mind was absent — sucked in a thought,
My sockets staring at my plate,
Spaghetti was the dinner,
I felt my fork roll upon it, saliva was dripping,
Inside my mouth that held clandestine whispers,
Then my brain wrote a horrid picture...
I was walking upon a narrow road,
Too slippery and wet with red sticky goo,
Only it wasn't a road, it was the noodles,
Of the spaghetti for dinner.
I slipped on my footing, sliding all the way down,
My breath collapsing the solitude of air,
This was my life in reality,
Like a rollercoaster, rolling away,
Just to go back at the beginning,
Again.
And again.
So I cut the noodles, to break the loop.
***
"If you don't want your life to revolve in a one single loop, cut it and build another path — this time, with other paths..."
YOU ARE READING
A World of Poems
Poetry"The dead that weaves in the spindle, A bundle of silk - woven and spun, Collected and collected, Until it's a huge massacre of stars." -Excerpt This is an original made poetry collection about life and are written in many forms of genre like love...
