Pick at the threads
Pull apart the seam
That continues down the
Road of your existence
Fiddle with the ends
Can't put it back
Together again once it's
Been taken all apart
Feel the stitches and
Continue the methodical pulling
And ripping and tearing
Of your stringy soul
It's all your own
Not someone else's and
Yet you cannot stop
The slow useless murder
See those happy people?
Let them sharpen your
Precision and let deft
Fingers continue ripping seams
Don't slow now the
Hate is just starting
To burn an ugly
Hole in your heart
Endlessly into the night
The pulling, frantic, continues
Growing more urgent
As daylight comes close
The sun rises and
The birds chirp yet
The tugging on life
Continues on and on
Realize there is no
End to the string
Unless it is cut
Once and for all
YOU ARE READING
Screeches of the un-oiled Mind
PuisiA collection of "poetry" (if you can really call it that) I'm writing on a whim. It's simply a way for me to get things out of my head so don't expect anything spectacular.
