Statues At My Feet

The lonely world gathering for a funeral, death dropped into the ocean like tragic scrabble squares barely remembered but spelling out a name, a word, a life that left too soon. Happier to lose more, than gaining anything at misery’s cost.  Broken with the tongues of voiceless lakes or granges, forever waiting always lost. 

I have everything and for it still worthless, a name, a face, a voice that screams the passion in my thoughts. A scar, a simple heart, a soul that sometimes tries too hard. I am world’s away from the crowd that gathers every time a baby’s born or when the whipping wind freezes everyone in its path. Immune to the skin relenting sting of terror, devoid of the sympathy to force tears at the first sign of perfect laughter.  

I feel faceless, nameless sometimes, barcoded on a shelf like food for strangers, zero zero six and waiting, 8 more digits graciously combined to cut my price in half. Wasted on a family who only shop for the highest quality in the label stores marked with star signs. Everything about me is for the person who walks silently to work or to the river for a day out. I am him in my essence, ordinary and old, waking up a sinner and falling asleep so tired and so cold. 

 Confessions, barely anything to save but a few simple thoughts at the day’s end and back to back weeks of listening to Ryan Adams, back to where it all began. Quietly existing, passionately portraying a simple man with statues at my feet and a heart and soul somehow still proud of always capturing a moment’s thoughts within every single hope and dream.  

“Its better to burn out than to fade away” ——— Kurt Cobain  



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