The Silk Wrapped Dead

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
a few words about carrying on and not giving in

Submitted: April 01, 2016

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Submitted: April 01, 2016

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Struggling

Slipping

Pulling

Clawing

Grabbing

Crawling,

Out of the coffin.

 

Your mattress

Lay among ruin.

Skin and bones

Hang by puppet-strings,

Dance

Little puppet,

Dance,

If you ever want to be

a real boy.

Step,

Unsteadily,

With a slight wobble

And a twist

Through the ever-widening gap

Between you

And survival.

 

Take heed

Dead-end presidents

As the sidewalks

Ripple,

With the sick

Suckling,

Of the muck

As you try

To lift your feet

And carry on

A somewhat forward movement.

 

Pay no mind

To the silk-wrapped dead,

Standing on street corners

Uncallous hands

Out reached,

Begging for a little

Of your time

In exchange for money

And all the while

Mumbling

Behind shit covered grins

About management experience

For the nubile innocence

Of your first born.

 

Unfortunately,

What many

Fail to realize,

Is anyone spouting off

Verbal masturbation

Like nubile innocence,

(including me)

Is 97% more likely

To be a pretentious fuck

And more than certain

To be bound for an eternal,

Unconstricted,

Mediocrity,

Known the world over,

To be linked to

an epidemic

Of self-inflicted

Decapitations.


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