Still Life

Rudeness personified
my aching vertibrae,

wearily I rise to my feet
and the room begins to sway;

grinding palpatations
awakes my body to the light,

the fresh sterility of the day
has all but erased the dark of night.

Reality can wearily
drape black crepe over me,

because my expectations
were too great to ever be;

sideways indignation
I alone, can hope to feel,

from your casual reaction
I see my solitude is real.

The color has all but drained
from the eyes inside my head,

but, focusing on other things
has turned the white parts red.

To understand this logic
I'm obliged to write this out,

so, the futility of the movements
are ingrained, without a doubt!

Now, for me to take away more truths
than that, would be a crime,

for this feeling, there is no healing
I guess I've just got to do the "time"!