It is not that I do not morn
It is that I have seen the unforgettable
It is not that I am heartless
And felt the pain of the hatefulness
This world has to offer
I do not weep for the dead
Because they are no longer breathing
It's because I had the same monsters under my mattress
Their thoughts and words are better off unspoken
No one bothered when they were silently screaming
Why is it of any importance now
They are gone
We are still breathing
Why morn the dead
When it's the living we should be morning
YOU ARE READING
Keeping My Day Job
PoesieThis is a collection of poems I have written. Some of it is dark and demented. Others are about him and his crocked smile. And some are just dunking nights I don't remember and wadded up napkins scribbled on with words I can barely make out, I find...
