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rynmccallPoems
Pushed to the back of the fridge Styrafoams full of predictions Of life after your childish ambitions played out. Carried home from a family occasion The ideas molded Over the ages of a chilly Adolescence. Now each morning hits like a punch in the mouth, The sour taste of last nights Forgetfulness Heavy on your breath. it's always too early To stomach the sun. Returning to lost love With only poison in your gut; It's getting easier to move on. Continue along Hanging from a precarious Cable car of ambivalence Wave at each opportunity missed As it passes you by, your eyes Idly on the sky. "Next time, next time" You mutter "Next time I'll give it a try." C.e.M. 2.17.15
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Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 12:50 AM UTC
The Tragedy of Technicality
Pushed to the back of the fridge Styrafoams full of predictions Of life after your childish ambitions played out. Carried home from a family occasion The ideas molded Over the ages of a chilly Adolescence. Now each morning hits like a punch in the mouth, The sour taste of last nights Forgetfulness Heavy on your breath. it's always too early To stomach the sun. Returning to lost love With only poison in your gut; It's getting easier to move on. Continue along Hanging from a precarious Cable car of ambivalence Wave at each opportunity missed As it passes you by, your eyes Idly on the sky. "Next time, next time" You mutter "Next time I'll give it a try." C.e.M. 2.17.15
#poetry#sad#relationships#thoughtful#insanity#night#late#fate#tragedy#write
rynmccall
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rynmccall
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 12:50 AM UTC
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