PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

making breakfast at a quarter

to three in

the afternoon

the eggs fall out of

my trembling hands

and as they make their

way to the floor

tears flow out of my eyes

i figure myself

clumsy

for making such a mistake

each egg breaks

apart and spill

yellow

white

wishing i was an egg

on the floor

out of the box

out of their misery

broken

in pieces

silent

as they break

messy

and in peace

walking towards my window

i ponder on things that make the world

go round

no sunshine

just a dark, orange

spot in the sky

figures

i think i was meant to be

fly

a short-lived life

then BAM!

i'm dead

better off that way

i think

but it doesn't matter

what i think

so i say nothing

i don't buzz around like a fly

would or should

i'm nothing

i'm nobody

i'm the eggs on the

floor

broken

and

silent...