Can't lose my name, it's on all my stationary! (wclimits) wrote in badpoetryinc,
Can't lose my name, it's on all my stationary!
wclimits
badpoetryinc

Way old stuff.

There are boxes and rolls of tape, stripped bare of everything they ever were.
There are pictures on the ground, and the nails in the walls are obsolete and dour.
If the vases weren't empty, the flowers would be dead
Mid-bloom, and brooding
Over beauty that was promised
Then denied.
And like all tired and thirsty things, I have rigged
The cupboard doors
So that the emptiness inside will never show
Through panes of plexiglass
And wood.
I will never open them again, and even if I tried
There would be nothing there to compensate
My efforts.
There are people always watching, from the safety of their open windows
I bet their cupboards are filled with shelves
Of crystal and glass.
I hope their dinner plates shatter on their tiled floors,
And their forks and knives are bent beyond repair,
So they will starve, or choke
On bites too big to swallow.
But for now, they will watch us in our bare feet
Running through rocks
And blades of sympathetic grass,
Passing boxes through hands that would be better
Put to use around their necks,
And tightly closed
Just like the doors to our empty bedroom, where I used to sleep.
Keys to doors and gates and vehicles,
(And secrets they know I'm keeping)
Keep time with my
Awkward steps
As I pace through hallways that sigh with restrained
Frustration.
Hallways have no personalities. They are just tunnels
To places we would rather be.
But at least, they were not disappointed
Like our dead flowers
Who's primary function was to
Look pretty.
And like all tired and pretty things,
I have shut the doors
And turned the locks
And left behind
Nothing
But unfulfilled promises.

What happend to my talent? What happened
To my resolve?
Lost somewhere between bad inventions,
And policies, or codes of conduct,
...Or something about listening
To the way the rain pounds
Out the itinerary;
Chilly winds,
12 hour graveyard shifts,
And that bitch from section 3
With a bad attitude
And strategic nose ring
That I sometimes think about
Ripping out with my
Frantic fingers.
But that would be a waste of time
Since I'd be called to aisle four
To clean the blood off the floor.
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