Everything’s back to normal,
Nothing is out of place.
Fixed is what you are.
Fast-paced, fast-paced
Life.
Your name is not what you think.
Your identity is not what that paper says.
Your height and weight slowly shrink.
No face, no face.
Where?
And fall out your memory,
No place to go.
Your mind is old story,
It’s what is ought to.
Who’s your wife, who’s your son?
Do you remember what they’re called?
What’s your fish name, is it Ron?
You can escape just try to crawl.
This is what you are not,
This is what you shall not,
This is what you could not.
This is what you will not.
This is what the fuck.
YOU ARE READING
Cracks in the Pavement
PoetryA poetry project consisting on *trying* to describe some personally selected mental disorders, in well, rhymes. These poems are original and... weird. My style is different, to say the least. I hope nonetheless that you enjoy this compilation from s...
