Mar 07

Leftover Teenage Angst

Those of you who can’t get enough bad poetry can watch as this one get worse over the next few days. Enjoy, you sick bunch of… 🙂

Something there is that doesn’t like a wall.
Something there is that does.
Good walls make good prisons.
I build them strong:
Blocks cut from the living rock
of my heart;
Crushed hopes and brimstone
lovingly mixed just right
with blood for mortar;
Troweled with care,
Leveled with precision,
Cured through year after hopeless year
to seamless perfection,
stone and cement melded into one.

Cured with the pressure
of year upon wearisome year
to one seamless sheet.

No doors, no windows,
only four walls,
ceiling and floor.
My stone, my walls, my prison,
my life.

I batter my walls with
eyes clenched in fists of tears.
The walls ignore me.
They stare imperturbably
into nowhere, nowhen, nothing.
I am nothing to them.

Sadness licks my wounds,
helps them bleed.

Edited 03/07/2007 10:59am
Edited 03/09/2007 15:08pm