Sep
12
well
the stones thrown
into my well
of a heart
they fill it up
like tears into a
paper cup
that breaks like a storm hit
like rocks attacked by waves
or maybe not
those things always seem
so flimsy
i guess
but they’d break
with one look
at the mistakes i seem to
constantly make
and the questions i ask
underneath the web
underneath the pile
at the bottom
somewhere
surrounded in green
the questions i ask
that echo up forever
and call to a dog
to tempt the man
to let this poor soul go
i suppose
i’ll never know those answers
and so
i ignore even myself
as is the trend
and try my best
to make a life
or make a friend.
