Shoestrings (an affected poem)
Are people's
lonesome adventures
depressive masquerades?
In a culture of one's
design; only
'tis Not
Deceit tied them
together like
Shoelace
Solace.
Pain, it's never evil but never good;
It's pure hurt, betrayal, depression;
It's a dagger in your heart that you wish would go away;
You cry, take it out on yourself, push everyone away;
You're angry, so angry you can't get it out your mind;
Pain makes you go insane;
Pain drags behind you like a shadow that puts you down;
Pain gives you the excuse to drink;
The excuse to stare at the needle in your arm waiting;
Praying for it to fall out on it's own;
As you stare at the overdose in your mind;
The excuse for you to forget what or even who you are inside;
It gives you the excuse to jump off the edge;
End up six feet under;
Pain, it's NEVER evil but NEVER good.
What's this?
I found something amiss.
There's a pencil there,
Just lying on the stair.
Picked it up and what did I find?
A pencil of the same kind
That was a month ago I lost,
And a heartache it did cost.
But here it is, good as new.
Pencil, I'm glad I found you.
If you're the same one,
Guess what! You're home!
I lost my pencil today
It slipped off the desk
As I walked away.
I went back to look
But my poor pencil
It seems someone took.
It was dear to my heart
Now it's gone for good
Forever we must part.
Goodbye, good pencil.
Be well.