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Poem Details
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| Title: | Pick-Up-Stix |
| Author: | Christina Walko |
| Date Submitted: | 7/15/2008 |
| Poem: |
Swimming through this murky apathy I look hard and I try to see Just a few pieces of me, how I used to be Slowed to a snail's pace. I can’t help but let some of life Pass by like a picture of life Not really life, just a pale imitation. My heartbeat’s grown faint There’s no pigment in the paint, I don’t know what color to call it Me being someone who I ain’t Where did I go, is there anyone at home? I scream silently, searching for pieces of me. What kind of sickness is this? Who created this monster that leaves only an empty shell? Pulled from the wreckage of a lovely hell That was quickly sinking lower Than the human eye could go. Cold blood seeping slowly Into the emptiness of the trail I fear to tread Drip! Drip! Am I bad or am I good? And for whom? If I can’t decide which way to go Will I only spin my wheels? Or am I really and truly Just waiting to heal?... |