Capital Crime
I know tomorrow what writing this means;
Reckless defiance I’m sure all this seems;
But I’m more worn down than old denim jeans,
Tattered by scenes ripping holes through my dreams.
Try to imagine how things were before,
Study brown eyes overwhelmed once by yours,
Then trade me places and open the door,
To day after day where your worst fear occurs.
My life’s a nightmare that feels like a wake,
Stuck in a box with my pain on display,
Where smiles on faces see God’s great mistake,
Tortured in anguish that has this to say -
I owe a penance for squandering time,
Failing your love was a capital crime.
Copyright © Phillip Garcia | Year Posted 2016
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