The Cycle

Problems, all I heard Dusk till dawn; A cup filled with complaints Little does she know, How fortunate she is Shallow phrases will soon filled my empty pockets with utter shame “I can’t believe I’m actually related to that witch, she’s ruining my life” She muttered Sat in my closet of comfort Guilt never appeared to vanish from my mind The eyes, voices, smell of those are persistently present Stitched into my soul Helpless I felt As for I merely am a piece of worn out cloth 300 suns ago Those eyes lay upon me, A blunt curtain to hide the pain To mask emotion Emotions, Soon opinions Opinions, Far to dangerous to survive with The backs of those hammered on with heat Small drops of water rose from the skin Soon evaporated Dehydration, Played with both mind and body Another day gone by in the closet of comfort, “Perfect” as the next Yet, she still complains on her “hard life” Unable to see past herself Problems with “first world” countries The touch, speed, agility the fingers of those posses Seconds after seconds of non-stop production, no energy wasted Days after days without necessities, none wasted Pocket after pocket sowed on, one mistake, and those where gone, Replaced, by a younger, faster one Like the wife’s of the owners My last day in the closet of comfort, I, Like those, will also soon be thrown out, replaced by the “newer” She, Will continue her life like nothing has changed My replacement, Like I will sit, watch, and feel helpless Those, Will continue to live without opinion The cycle, Same events repeated, Time and time Again.