Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Dec 2012
Nothing I say is funny,
but somehow it's hysterical.
I hear whistling in the morning,
but I don't see the whistler.

Go jog; then to a sprint.
(through a slaughterhouse)
Tell me, can you imagine yourself?
(covered in insects) Rotting between
the ears,

Do you ever find yourself trying?
                                      (too hard)
                                               (way too hard)
Trying to account for lost time.
Wake up at 1 a.m. -getting shocked.
Feel your heart (sprint) and stop on a dime.

Feel your heart stop (once in a while)
Learn to love what's good and good for you.
No rotting out. More speaking out.

Nothing I say is funny,
but somehow it's hysterical.
I hear whistling in the morning,
but I don't see the whistler.
Chris Rodgers
Written by
Chris Rodgers  Indiana
(Indiana)   
816
   wandabitch and rachel g
Please log in to view and add comments on poems