Quiet

Some days I sit.

I sit and sit.

For hours and hours.

My head in my hands.

I don't eat.

I don't drink.

I feel neither hunger nor thirst.

I imagine big, bold letters on my skin.

Branding me like cattle.

 

FAILURE

 

Other days I lay.

For hours and hours.

My head in my arm.

Sighs coming from my heart.

 

FAILURE

 

I see the road.

It's long and twisted.

My car has broken down.

I'm out of gas.

My legs are broken.

I'm trapped in the prison of my own mind.

 

FAILURE

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Beatnik1979's picture

great execution

 of poetry, and it all comes to a head in line  twenty-one. Very powerful  and excellent use of metaphor.  Well done