Lose
You lose a million times.
Just like the sinking feeling you are.
Splotches, and splitting.
Losing as much as possible.
A millionaire can keep all his money in a suitcase.
Fall like a camera filming a day in the life.
Spattering money all around.
Just like green paintballs.
A mill on the outskirts of town.
Has straw and hay, itchy, and painful.
I live on the hay bale.
A million seconds at a time.
You lose a million times.
You do. And you’re not proud.
Even if you make a dollar a minute.
You could get hurt.
Lose them all.
Just like family.
If I had a million family members.
Like splotches everywhere.
You lost a million dollars that day.
There’s really no explanation.
You are a little proud.
That you were a millionaire for a million seconds at once.
The sinking feeling.
A dollar doesn’t get passed up.
If these bales of hay were money…
I would be cut up but not as itchy.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment