Time spent alone staring at a clock,
always back ordered, you're never in stock,
heart behind three locks and laser beams,
making sure you never settle or pick different teams,
not like i wished for me to still think,
that i had absolutely everything taken from me in a blink,
memories that stink like happiness and perfection,
poked and searched by unlawful inspection,
not like i wished for me to call and quickly,
hang up the call, have a random girl with me,
trying to kiss me, so i can feel something,
even with that attempt i still feel nothing,
what happened to the Summer and the memories made?
ran off into the horizon, away from me they fade,
life is a game played by many a person,
until it takes a turn for tragic and swiftly worsens.
well, i don't think life is
well, i don't think life is always a game, but there are times that it seems it is that way for some people all the time...and this poem is a good representation of those times. kudos!
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "
thanks for the read &
thanks for the read & comment
rereading this i still get the sense of the games played by some.
can you hear me now?