Scribbled on a Sheet of Printer Paper in the Middle of My Lunch
the rock stars and the artists
the fucking poets
looking out at the world
wide-eyed, feigning innocence
pretending we don't see you
trying to see us
how you create your precious truth
your carefully constructed photographic collage
of images you've picked apart
pasted back together
in a more appealing way
-you make us palatable
some bland stew with a dash of salt
and pepper-
bastards always leave the poison out
when it's time to serve us up
the sunlight is flattering, don't you think?
conducive to the trendy shades
hiding dark circles borne of grief and stress
flashing off outrageous curls
and manic spikes
catching the occasional smile
and making you think it means
far more than it does-
something personal just for you-
it doesn't.
it doesn't mean anything
except that you are on the outside
and need to stay that way
but it works, right?
your tragic, broken royalty
walking side-by-side and you can play
like you're a part of it
and you can't imagine that the spaces in between
are the only places we exist
for real.
Published by April Fox
When she isn't writing for sites like livestrong and typef, April can usually be found with her head in a book, lying in the sun blowing bubbles, or perched near the stage listening to music and trying to av... View profile
2 Comments
Post a Commentwe're all in between, that's the point. (i'm too lazy to log in)
Well For Pete's Brother's Sake!!!! There you go agian!! Me Left out wanting inbetween!!