Posted in The Wandering Mind

In The In-Between 

Sometimes, all I want to do is write,

Every little thought in my mind’s sight,

All the little things I ever did or said,

From sun-up till I go back to bed.

Sometimes all I want to do is hurt for a while,

Chase every little shadow born from a smile,

But I lack inspiration,

And my mind’s too tired for concentration.

I do not hope or dream of another life,

I don’t want to add more to this one’s strife,

The loss of this one would bring that to life,

Balanced as it is on the edge of a knife.

I keep on walking when I want to lie down,

I keep on hoping though the world spins around,

I know that I feel frustration,

But that is why this is my confession.

 

Ruth. P. – 2016 ©

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