Dormant
beat down by a
world of rejection
with wrinkles staring
back from that
cruel mirrored reflection
realizing the real world
that does not
rhyme like it might
in the most perty of
songs that we sing to
ourselves in times of
perfectly horrific tragedy
or jokes we tell those
round us to try & grasp
some iota of
comfort in a
collapsing atmosphere &
every breath is a struggle
& every attempt at moving
away from the past seems
to be a fleeting jump in the
direction of chaos
where personal responsibility
can seem more daunting
as each passing moment
rears its ugly head &
every pointing finger
is just another dying
hollow body, here lies
the titillating torment,
here lies the hilarity
that what one blames as
the sole reason for
such seemingly singular
demise, that
possibility of sex laying
all around at the feet of
the 21st century adult,
that wanton human
desire that creates the
catalyst that topples the
first crucial domino in
a life of self-blame &
echoing walls to scream to
when the inevitable empty
room surrounds,
leaving one alone,
leaving one sick,
leaving one self-destructive &
dormant,
waiting for the world to give one
more reason,
waiting
waiting
waiting.
Copyright © Andrew Delapruch | Year Posted 2012
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