Why is it that we are drawn to disasters?
Why is it that the house fire next door is so much more intriguing than our own current predicaments?
Why is it that the boy with the beer sitting across the room seems more interesting than the sweet girl on my arm?
Is it because we long to mend the broken?
Or is it because we want to witness the outcome of a few horrid mistakes?
Did I wish to solve the mystery that was him,
Or did I somewhere deep down long to be dragged into his downward spiral,
So as though I could witness his unravelling firsthand.
YOU ARE READING
Poems for the Pained
PoésieA collection of words both happy and sad strewn together to create awful poetry.
