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Older piece written months ago.
oOo
Take your time,
the streetlight won't go out;
It's almost a crime,
just another bout with yourself
inside the light;
you're safe,
you're blinded,
long since winded
by the worms that never stop eating.
There is no god,
of that you've been long convinced;
It's bitter,
the cold-hearted wind
which chills your bones;
You try to warm yourself with thoughts,
but you can't always be happy
and that's what makes you think
you're pretending.
You're just short of pain to be allowed a complaint,
'Cause you're lost outside, too tired to explain;
The state of the world you'll never know is leaving you dumb and transfixed,
'Cause you're just short of defects to warrant never getting fixed.
Nightfall comes,
the streetlight's always lied.
You succumb to another bout;
a mouse eyed hungrily
on darkened roads;
you stride like a lord
without land,
The lord of the worms,
There is no god,
of that you've been long convinced,
it makes you sad,
the chill from the house
meant to be your home.
You rub your hands
to warm your bones,
you can't always be sad,
That's what makes you
a pretender.
You're just short of pain to be allowed a complaint,
'Cause you're lost outside, too tired to explain;
The state of the world you'll never know is leaving you numb and transfixed,
'Cause you're just short of defects to warrant never getting fixed.
oOo
Category Poetry / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 50 x 50px
File Size 14.2 kB
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