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.
Copyright © Blob Rnesre | Year Posted 2013
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