By: Old Gray
My blinding distraction
Gone in seconds for hours of your wasted moments
I dug a grave for my purpose
Tuned in to a bright future, sat front row as it crumbled and fell
Tie me up nice so I don’t have to feel this
Relief flowing through my veins, I traded my soul for a rush, my fix, and now I hurt without even with
Always chasing, always hating, ever loving, never enough
My subconscious effort not to succeed
Where did my refuge go? You used to hold me, now we embrace and you turn your back
YOU ARE READING
A Spark Of Hope
PoetryTHE GESTURE: By George Oppen The question is: how does one hold an apple Who likes apples And how does one handle Filth? The question is How does one hold something In the mind which he intends To grasp and how does the salesman Hold a bauble he int...
