Broken bits of everything, added to the pile, torn and shattered composition, forced to wear a smile. Is this what human’s are made of, or is it only me, trying to plant a seed in a pile of crap, in hopes I’ll be a tree?

Perhaps a bit simplistic, but the fault indeed was mine, always searching for perfect, as if I could find; Perfect body, perfect hair, everything in place including what I would believe to be the perfect face.
But none of it was perfect. How could I expect, to find perfect on the page, an utter act of disrespect.
And now I see my folly, my errand played by fools, that I should try to find that which I myself refuse. I refuse to see my faults and therein lies the truth, it was not the gain of weight or the loss of youth.

Ugly to the core, I am. Fragment of a soul. a puzzle with scattered pieces, in hopes to one day be whole. And what of those bodies, the collage of broken hearts, never leaving where they were, but keeping the smallest part?

I can’t blame the face or name, for it was me who opened the door, never satisfied at the table, always wanting more. How do I vanquish what I have become, is redemption even feasible, or is it safe to say I am a plaque to be burned away, that at least sounds reasonable.

So cast me into flame, but before you do, hand me that bottle won’t you, so I can take one or two. These are for the pain, and these are for the more that’s coming, and a few more for tomorrow, after all it’s numbing.

Wash it down with absinth, to wipe the smile away. I don’t deserve the last forty years, much less another day. And if I close my eyes tonight, and I am taken in my sleep. Celebrate the vanquished monster, no more tears to weep.

Just a bad man, trying to do what was right, a place within the void, perhaps forgiven in next life, for all the souls I toyed. Tell the one that I did love him, or perhaps I believe my own lies, enough I could not tell him of my suicide, or to say goodbye.

Tomorrow will be better, if I’m not around, if anyone is looking, I’ll be six feet down. Don’t mourn the slayed dragon, don’t pity the fallen beast, don’t call on prince charming, I can do this at least. No more cutting remarks, or a rapier wit, honestly I am tired, and had enough of it.

A hasty retreat into the here after, I’ll see if their is a hell, and if instead I’m reincarnated, to throw myself down a well. To feed myself to a shark, or plunge into the murky depths, better than draw another breath, feeling sorry for myself.

Writer, Poet, NC Native who enjoys sharing through poetry. Visit D. Wyn at WindsorStudios.WordPress.com.
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Writer, Poet, NC Native who enjoys sharing through poetry. Visit D. Wyn at WindsorStudios.WordPress.com.

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