I fail at optimism.
Flail in a cowardice
that smells like
that same perfume I've been wearing for 3 years.
And I swear there's an eyelash behind my eye
that itches me into
madness
and emails at 5am
talking about cats, dope and forgetting to take out the bins.
I've tried rubbing it out.
But swearing is for children
with pin-prick blood brothers
and ideas about
forever,
in the corner of the shop down the road
that you can't walk to alone.
I walk alone too often now,
though my mother still tells me not to.
It's somewhere in the back of my mind,
itching.
Author notes
Transatlanticism
A contest entry
- Something Different! by Trent plus pen.
800 points, ended August 19, 2008, 50 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
-
wait until you are a mere month away from 28 ... it gets no better ... and this piece cant get no better either ... loved it!!!
-
This is a wonderful piece of writing, thanks for the entry!
FINALISTTT
-
The line about the old perfume clinches the whole poem. Without it, this piece would feel like a generic declaration of lost youth. With it, it's too human.
Beautiful.
Adding your comment:
