Was I Here
I'm in a pickle
but I ain't pickled
My skin is smooth
yet my soul is wrinkled
I look real close
with my broken glasses
Trying to see past never
as the moment passes
Walking on eggshells
minding my own business
accused of being guilty
by a false witness
So I try to fight back
with a stick and a stone
while slings and arrows
cut quick to the bone
I feel the blood trickle
my funny bone tickled
Expecting the worst
as the stars twinkle
My glasses fall off
my vision turns clear
imagination's concoction
I was never really here!
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2016
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