Paint smeared on slacks
As I sit in front of a spreadsheet,
Dreaming of better days.
Writing a book
With an empty coffee mug,
Dreaming of the dishes that need tending.
Twenty-four hours in a day
With twenty-six responsibilities,
And twenty-seven hobbies.
Oh, Mr. Sandman,
Why must you be so cruel?
A sleepless night is better
Than the mere taste of a dream.
As I binge eat canvases,
I vomit masterpieces,
And now left with a mess.
YOU ARE READING
The Words of a Shattered Soul
PoetryA collection of poetry from my tortured mind. It took every bone in my body to decide to start posting it... Pain in my chest bubbles to the surface With pain relief being found in the arms of a stranger, Rather than a lover. For the world is cruel...
