He turns the page
Of old age
For what was once the rage
Now sits in his cage
It's been a war to wage
This, life's final stage
The pressure gauge
Ticking on so outrage
Ticking by in ménage
For his book's cleavage
Untouched and derange
Year's wasted and disengaged
If only there was no leakage
Or ever such seepage
Life on his barren range
With no panacea to assuage
No wife ever, no cat, no life to engage
Nothing but red read rage
Now in his final chapter, this cage
This cage, death does he part this rampage
A life perched without marriage
For he married to himself backstage
Where his curtain veiled fruitage
In lieu of looking at the skies for dosage
He fell hostage to his hermitage
Yet this, his bottled pilgrimage
Sinking now in raging montage
He does sit beseeched in his passage
And hopes someday to bid bon voyage
With direr hopes of  turning a better page

Logan Robertson

9/27/2018

Sitting in front of
The people I love
Hiding from them
My feelings in a cove

The sadness seeps
Up from my broken heart
To my eyes as they search
For a place to start

A place to start
With a knife in my hand
The thin lines as the pierce
The blood pooling in the sand

You hide them the next day
The cuts along your arms
To make sure no one sees them
You raise your alarm

Not a day goes by
That you don't see the scars
From so many years ago
Straight lines across your arms

Years later you know
How the cuts didn't help
All they did was curse you
With the pain that you felt

Each day a reminder
Of the way you made
Made yourself feel better
By giving yourself pain

Scarred for life
Both mentally and physically
You now know why you should never
Never show your vulnerability