PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

in the strong pulse of my limp left wrist

I feel the very life of me hiding behind

'The Wall Of This'

where do I come from

have I always been me

I am so uncertain of every imaginable thing

that with myself I constantly disagree

I make too much out of things that make no sense

and out of every possible facade

I prefer the active use of pretense

when I am blue I take comfort deep beneath the folds

of colors dark and extra special green

I buy up truth at simple face value

but usually its sight unseen

I leave myself wide open to many crude forms of

abrasiveness and its strip meant of self esteem

leaves my dusty ego wiped smooth and clean

how can I explain my actions where there is no

real reason why

it is possible I know to live through certain

circumstances and still be a victim of virtual

homicide

giving up every part of yourself just to say you

at least tried

in myself there is room left in which to confide

instead of facing my fear I am releasing it

for I don't have the adequate energy that's needed

to throw a temper tantrum or fit...............

(written Feb 14,1992 am)