The continuous onslaught
Of self loathing
Upon the moments
Of being a helpless
Wind sock
Cannot control
What comes my weary way
A deck of cards
Shuffled with jokers;
Hands spoiled
Trusting in others;
Russian roulette
Attempt;
To feed on others
See what I can get.
The lonesome leech
Lapping the living liquid
Signs of life at a minimum
Crowds of mannequins
Faceless, emotionless
Void of any viable
Connection
But then again;
I may be the only
Mannequin
YOU ARE READING
The Atrium
PoetryAs the river of life flows right through, collecting at the delta towards the Atrium of my soul
