work writing.

I have been writing at work. I am pretty sure its not the best environment to be writing, but anyway….

---

This ego is a shallow pool;
A mirrored image of the ugliness inside
With no one looking down.
A wishing well, not keeping any promises
For pennies never reaching its soggy bottom.

This puddle,
Muddled and confused,
“Who was that directed at anyway?”
The sigh and lingering desire;
This psyche is cracked,
But sometimes
The light allows for a peeping
Smile.
A lie refracted, altered, and stretched
To fit the glossy finish.

Deflation is so relieving,
While all the greatness is leaving;
Sneaking out some unknown back door.
This ego
Is leaking,
Weakening,
Drying up.

Leaving only
The hole.

---

Square peg, round hole,
And still she tries.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Trying so hard to make reality fit,
The image of the mind.

Colorblind.
Red means what?
To who?
Where?
Then green.
They don’t let the colorblind be pilots.
How do they fly?

Bang!
Bang!
Bang!

Crawling along the rough ground,
Toughens knees,
Prepped for begging.

Square peg, round hole,
And still she tries.

Colorblind.
Red means she went after it the only way she could.
Wearing a gun and dropout’s jilted smile.
Tilted thoughts, skewed until she fit
Reality in the image of her mind.

All it took was one Bang.

Her little round body,
In a square box.
Six feet deep into the rough ground.

---

(I don’t like this one, but I wrote it… ugh, needs fixing, editing, etc.)



everything gets broken
time has its way of making it all
worn and torn
somehow reality loses all its lacquer
after the crows leave their marks
next to aging eyes

take for instance the joy of dancing
what a way to wear your joints
down to the bone
the creaking cracking hereafter
of those nights
not so long ago

in mind, it was just yesterday
that the beat was loud
and feet moved rhythmically
on some faded strip of ground

all that sound to fray the scilia
of your ears
to stretch and ruin those precious ear drums

all those nights of squinting and drinking
of "looking fine"
only to sweat it off

every beat a slipping moment
another second gone

everything gets broken
tired aging wrinkles
tearing tendons
wearing Prada on aging bones

the sun is setting but no ones
dancing in this quiet night.