Pain

The future doesn’t do much.
Just like paint.
When it’s in a can, it’s nothingness.
When it’s on the wall, it’s covering everything up.
The kitchen walls were just repainted.
In the kitchen, I drop some sugar and everything dies.
I burn my finger on the stove.
I leave it on to burn all the food.
So the food can feel the hurt too.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2024

Poem

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Bartley Avatar
July 22, 2024 at 8:15 PM
Awesome poem. So the food can feel the hurt too. Love it. Thanks for sharing.
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