Spiteful

These days are killing my soul
Busy and not home yet

Technology has taken over
There's not enough art in my life

I love you, but
My science experiment is telling

I'm going to leave your leftovers
on the table till they mold

Clothes are washing
I am finally fed

Time to cleanse and intoxicate
And soon to write myself to sleep

Contributing Factor

Perhaps it's the loss of control that makes me feel this way.

posted from Bloggeroid

Holes

The holes in my sole
are displayed through
the holes in my flesh

Progress in Time

Life is a finite thing
Yet the rise of one age
Does not give close to another
Life is a stacking, growing, creeping
Monster
Time progresses

Just as one decade
Lapses into something new
Yet does not draw close
to what came before
So it is
with phases of our own lives

I choose to move toward change
Yet I am not able to eradicate my past
I must keep it
as a sign of where I've been,
what I've seen
the things which I've done

Weak

This IS me caring
If only I was strong before
I am weak
I am silent
I write
I weep

Older. Wiser?

We grow older
And we grow wiser
Sometimes not at the same rate
Sometimes one before the other

posted from Bloggeroid