Tuesday, October 14, 2014

How am I going to find my way home?

A needle into a bug
A pill to take for your grief
The words I find are not compassionate
And most likely not convincing.
I'm a broken piece of who I was
It'll just take years to find
A little bulb that has burned out
That's harder to replace than I'd like.
I'm a vessel built for guiding
Finding is not my purpose
Because when I look, all I see
Is the world moving on, sans me.
I'm not the person you wanted
I never was the best friend I could be
Useless and hopeless, looking to find
A deeper meaning in this shitty poetry.

No comments:

Post a Comment