One part untapped potential,
left rotting and festering like standing water,
slowly rotting your brain.
You try to add two parts passion
but realize you have nothing
to put it into.
It frustrates you when you realize you have no energy
so you can't make it.
If you have no energy, then what is making your hands tremble?
You try to figure out a way to salvage this.
Replacing it all with emptiness would be easy;
you have plenty of it.
You could use your tears as shortening,
stir in until you can't taste them any more.
This isn't how you cook.
You don't know how long you've been standing in front of the oven
but it's dark.
You're not that hungry anyways.
YOU ARE READING
twoball screwball
Poésiehigh school was a difficult time filled with even more difficult poetry. there are plenty of thoughts and writings that i created during this time that have done nothing but collect dust. i'm going to try and give them another chance at life here. ...
