Poetry was born out of artless desperation
Even though I've gone down that road a few times
I like to think I’m not there yet-
Where light only comes through a forgotten window
Where nobody can ever hear my screams
Where I can’t pretend
Now and then I catch these sounds
A dull clatter of banal days and drowsy storms
I can wash my head clear of all the change
And break a rule or two, deceive the pain
Lapsing back is pitiful but I laugh off the warning on the pack
The truth is so much simpler than the way it manifests
Such a beautiful waste of time
If only my version of events could hold out for a while
You’d notice how quiet the leaves were
For people like me and you
How happily I could just drown in a moment’s cacophony
But you were just going through usual motions
Being a catchall for your vagaries tore away my being
And you abandoned every shredded figment of my soul
You suddenly break into my poetry which failed to be about me again
How I wish I could draw simpler pictures in my head
Have sillier dreams and slap on a sickly smile for all time
Never gaze into people again, just the vague tendencies of passers-by.