in a room
close to two decades
things get stale...
everything's seems
the same except me.
the silver stereo
with a history
the big back TV
broken like the wall-robe
exposing my scant clothes.
nothing works
it's better to keep
the door closed.
books of geniuses scattered
about. I've already read them all.
there is nothing new to do
but waste away youth;
each day is a novel abuse.
My eyes have gotten duller
my feet and cock bigger
my drowning deeper.
YOU ARE READING
IN HEAVEN - everything is fine
PoetryPoems from yesterday. Written from when the house is asleep and my mind is at rest. Poems about what I'm feeling some are good. I'll try to do more and consistent even if not many people read them.
