we run on
the same set of tracks
even when our minds become weary
and our legs give out.
we have eyes for
the one path only
and we decay
from the inside out
when we drag ourselves,
our bleeding willpower,
and our battered sense of time
down a narrow road.
love peels away --
frays at the edges
when we black out
the world.
passion becomes a myth
and ruin is the reality.
we see the gold glinting
at the top of the mountain --
we know it is waiting there
and yet we refuse to stray
from the path
to pursue it,
in the name of remaining confined
within the boundaries
of the known.
even with blood pooling on the ground,
sweat drenching our brows,
and tears carving canyons into faces --
we shut out change
and choke every budding flower
and kill everything we fail to understand.
YOU ARE READING
The Second Time
Poetry☾ This is a book of drafts of dorky, hopeless poems, poem-ish works, and rants that usually make no sense whatsoever. I hope you enjoy reading them just as much as I enjoy writing them. ☽ Copyright © 2015 by something1d, all rights reserved. Poetry...
