Welcome Visitor: Login to the siteJoin the site



The product of writing under pressure.


Submitted:Mar 16, 2007    Reads: 110    Comments: 1    Likes: 0   


Dropped my mirror on the cracked pavement,
Can you tell me if my mind is lost?
Did it pour out of my ears?
Time, time...
I'm short on time.
Time, time...
I have lost my mind.

Waiting for the bus that takes me to heaven,
Can you tell me if I'm running late?
Did it leave without me?
Time, time...
I'm short on time.
Time, time...
No rhythm, no rhyme.

Take a little trip to the lost and found,
Can you tell me if you found what's missing?
I don't know what's missing.
Something...
Something's missing...
Time, time...
I've ran out of time.
Time, time...
No rhythm, no rhyme.





0

| Email this story Email this Poetry | Add to reading list



Reviews

About | News | Contact | Your Account | TheNextBigWriter | Self Publishing | Advertise

© 2013 TheNextBigWriter, LLC. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Policy.