clear cellophane wrapped inside my mind
layer upon layer, tissues
carefully cradled dreams and good intentions
too delicate to bear the weight of strangers
who talk into teleprompters and write eloquent letters
such a shame to find days wasted
sand that slips under my door
and comes to rest in some unknown corner
swept away eventually by footsteps and wind and voices of others
i had dreams once, and hope
such malice to find them slowly shrink and crumple
dwindling to no more than the pennies that remain in my bank account
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment