Box

Written 01/98

My life consists of;
Rambling words
and sympathetic piles of paper.
But words that I've forgotten how to say
to anyone they ever mattered to our involved.
A mouth, I cannot use.

Feelings that change
like the tide,
the seasons,
the weather.
-Maybe a closet of faded disguises
or simply a child that
can't remember the difference between right and wrong.
Either way,
a heart that hasn't been served justice.

Vacant aspirations,
a put off list of 50 things.
Dreams like photographs in an album,
lost beneath the clutter of my closet.
A mind without directories of rules and reason.

People; like the days of the week,
they pass on with some sort of routine.
And I follow unmoved
A body that's lost all function.






Note - I just felt the need to point some "old me". -posted 06/2015