I struggle with that fact
That I Mr. Sly
Have a target on my back
And everyone around me reacts
To the lack
Of hat tricks I have
But I can only score
Once more
Or so I think
I'm on the brink
Of desperation
The frustration
Is killing me
My mind is killing me
There's no healing me
Dopamine is my drug and its filling me
But it starts to flood
There's to much
I'm losing my mind with a brush
Of her lips
Its a kiss
Its a lie
In my mind
I scream I'm fine
But I realize
Thats a lie
Its about time
I come to grips
With all of this
The blatant ticks
As the hands twist
But they do my than turn
They snatch and they burn
The grab and they yearn
For what is not theirs
With their mechanical gears
They latch on to my fears
I can feel their stares
Boring holes into my mind
Oh these hands of time
YOU ARE READING
A Constant Poets Thoughts
PoetryI am constantly thinking poetically and finding meaning in the menial. I figured letting others read how I think might give insight to the world behind our own. Enjoy.
