(no subject)
Cauldron
My center.
The string that draws my eyelids up.
A stage set for some unscripted play without a plot.
It's been so long.
Second upon second
Of flag-saluting, brain-washing, you-live-it-only-once...
Of saying everything but what you mean, dry empty compliments spilling emotionless out of speaker phones to blushing pretty girls, insults drained of their passion and point, bus stop blues and your favorite shoes, the streak of red you painted over double doors to keep away the evil that you cannot tame with rules, blotted black days and looking back days and my favorite days when the rain blurred this stain,
on my brain, left for those who have stayed sane
a piece of every poem even this one.
This trampled,
Trampled education.
Within,
"the best years of our lives."
And only 360 tiles on the hallway floor.
Samantha Phillips
My center.
The string that draws my eyelids up.
A stage set for some unscripted play without a plot.
It's been so long.
Second upon second
Of flag-saluting, brain-washing, you-live-it-only-once...
Of saying everything but what you mean, dry empty compliments spilling emotionless out of speaker phones to blushing pretty girls, insults drained of their passion and point, bus stop blues and your favorite shoes, the streak of red you painted over double doors to keep away the evil that you cannot tame with rules, blotted black days and looking back days and my favorite days when the rain blurred this stain,
on my brain, left for those who have stayed sane
a piece of every poem even this one.
This trampled,
Trampled education.
Within,
"the best years of our lives."
And only 360 tiles on the hallway floor.
Samantha Phillips