he don’t care . . .
she don’t care . . .
so why, why the hell should I . . .
don’t pretend to comprehend . . .
this jibber jabber I blabber . . .
they’re just words of a drowning soul . . .
I thought I was coming up for air . . .
only to dive back down . . .
there’s no life line for my kind . . .
the kind that created a pool . . .
flowing with tears of self-pity . . .
sinking to the bottom . . .
taking chances . . .
acting on a whim . . .
un-calculated risk . . .
been following this path . . .
a long, a very long time . . .
seen familiar sights over and over . . .
I wonder, wonder why . . .
stop, just stop I don’t want to cry . . .
I’m a circle going nowhere . . .
I see happiness that’s not mine . . .
I see success in the mirror of my failure . . .
I reach for hope that I see far from me . . .
a mighty challenge . . .
not for the weak . . .
but the wise knows when to give up . . .
©Kimberly Wilhelmina Floria 9/17/16
Thanks for visiting come back tomorrow and read my new poem The Library is Where the Lies are Buried