Bad Poetry

Bleakly run –

A cigarette just out of reach,

To start the day amongst the clutter

A single shudder

To bring something back to mind.

Open and shut.

Never were things in such shades of gray

Never were they played out this way

My doe-wide eyes see nothing ventured, nothing gained,

Nothing sustained

Frame to frame, I cannot stay

Give up the game.

I cannot tell you why

The divide within my shallow chest knows nothing of defeat

It knows nothing of heartbreak,

Calloused hands caressing gentle words you say to lie your way –

Into the fray

I cannot stay. I cannot play this game.

The glass,

Half empty half full,

Half full of potential,

Half full of the weight of your words.

A cautionary tale,

A tale between two entities, lying and dividing

Pieces of our sordid history,

Watch it fail

Or let it go, to see if it bounces back.

A multitude of sins.

We lie in wait,

In weight so solid, barely breathing, seeing or believing –

We wait to cover up our misgivings.

Shun mine for yours;

a martyr-like sacrifice.

I could be blessed

Should I admit defeat.

I never knew what lay beneath your brows

I never knew the volume of your words,

The way they spoke like curling smoke,

Dancing languidly through the air…

You never dared

Or dreamed or spoke outloud,

You crushed it right beneath your foot.