You're a hot-button-issue.
The boy at the pew in front of you commits suicide
and you're the only one who knows why.
There's no hope to escape the machine
because too many questions make your hands shake
before you turn fourteen,
so you hide them in your pockets when you dress
in your Sunday best
for the sake of routine.
Before long you know who you are is wrong,
your life expectancy cut into quarters
and tossed into a beggar's cardboard box
behind the shoulder of a man in a dark blue vest—
holding his hand is Mrs. in a humdrum pink dress
all there is is loneliness
and who could guess
the draw of a long last breath—
YOU ARE READING
Chemical Instability
Poetrysome use poetry as a means of expression, others to create art, and still others as a form of relief. yet, the purest intention behind a poem is none other than writing it simply to keep oneself alive.
