The hair on your head you wash,
Our -whatever it is- I'll squash.
You scrub to clean it,
I'll end it all making it seem like a skit.
When you're done you dry your body,
I'll move far away from you in what seems like a jolly.
Dry your hair, your feet, and your face,
The shoes I'll use to walk out I'll start to lace.
You finally wipe your eyes to see that I've left,
And see that I'm already far from you, due west.
I've always told people sorry and it's my fault for things,
Saying it never hurt, but it's always left a sting.
Funny thing is, I've never truly been apologizing,
But words tend to ache, makes it seem galvanizing.
After my final push away, I'll slip in a vicious state of depression,
So this is my last step of recession and next, I'll only make progressions.
YOU ARE READING
The Welting Chess Board
Poesíajust a collection of quick thoughts with some long term emotions |(letter)| = certain people it's made out to btw read a bit and enjoy
