Its cold out there. This remains to be the truth. I sigh, but what did I ever expect. There’s nothing more. There’s always less.

Blinds there before meStaring me downI see what I must to be, to be…Here againMy hearing, dog like Does the wool of ones sheepDoes it ever really come cheap?It appears a man is sneakingThere he hides beyond the treeWaiting, waitingBlinding me, beckoning me onAgain, his sights on me, but whyCan he see I’ve aged here?I’m not getting any youngerDreaming, wanting somethingIt can’t ever be reachedToo high, I’m smallLittle in a world of chaotic meansFeeling in a calloused worldHere I stare I to myselfI do want to see To be, to be but whatAnd is there a here to beI call unheard by youA canine once told meHis bark does not sound meekHis soul is his to keepRed scarf floating thereThe water will pull it downSober, yet cold to the touchWet as I pull up, outI’ll dry like alwaysTowel to dry my skinBlind, I wish I were invisibleAt times…Here, againIt continues on and onThe same spotSame spit in my mouthI hate, now that is a lieHis wool blinds my eyesThe man there up thereBeckoning me highHe’s there, driving by 

Image via Wikipedia

Image via Wikipedia

Image via Wikipedia

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  • Geminieve on Jan 10, 2012

    This doesn’t read right! I tried resubmitting it over and over. It’s a Poem, and it’s reading wrong

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