Stuck inside all these words,
Are things I hide away,
Photographs of you and me,
Before it all decayed,
I bet you never knew,
I kept these things with me,
I bet you've not a clue,
What all these have to say,
Maybe I am obsessive,
Quite a bit insane,
I've never met a man before,
That could see my thoughts so plain,
I've never met a man before,
That I could not dismiss,
It has me fight a war inside,
With thoughts I can't banish,
The funny thing that I can make,
Is though you know my mind,
As much as it's fucked up,
For you that seems just fine,
So you play this game with me,
A neverending chase,
Then disappear so quickly,
A slap in my dirty face.
Author notes
"Poetry is a packsack of invisible keepsakes." ~ Carl Sandburg
Comments
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As always you tell your story in such a clear, concise way that we readers can feel your pain, and also call up our own in a similar situation. This calls for true talent. A couple of small edits for more precise meter? "I bet you've not a clue" and "It has me fight a war inside" perhaps? This last one takes away the "ing" and also makes the "war" sound more powerful/difficult. A very good read!
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Very well written. How deep, personal.
Well done.
Dani.
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Thanks.
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