Crushed
Life’s not like it used to be
my world’s caved in.
I am a vacuum, a hollow vessel
hopeless in attempts to bend and flex.
The shape of things is crushed.
Deformity replaces beauty and
I am cast off with others
ill-fated as myself.
Dumped into a droning darkness
many, some half some whole
speak clanking their way to someplace.
Empty and loud.
What can a dented can hope for?
To be undented again?
Filled with the fluids of laughter or pain?
I think not.
But see the light that peeks through slits.
A new place, brightness, movement
and soon, dear diary, I’ll have a major change
to sleek, aluminum foil.
1/9/18
CRUSHED Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anthony Biaanco
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