A Box of Tissues

Beat myself

with a whip,

my shoulder’s not

strong enough

for this chip.

I talk to strangers

to try to understand

the things that I find

hard to command.

Why cant I be

the same as you?

Instead of one

of the unlucky few.

My glass is always

half empty,

it is never full.

Life is never exciting,

it is always dull.

One day at a time

and I might be fine,

but the past

is always here

to intertwine.

The future

shall arrive

with pending issues.

That will

of course require,

a box of brand new tissues.

blur box clean contemporary
Photo by Tookapic on Pexels.com

 

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