A really twisted poem about writing, seeing, explaining and understanding others around me |
-It’s Not Real In Your Hands - by Keaton Foster Hold tight Forget outright If need be Blame any disease Pick your poison And stick with it Significant Is your lack of attention Justifiable to you Is such dereliction Running on cruise control Taking you where to go Anywhere, any means, and how Personal matters of preference It’s not real in your hands Everything is just an illusion What’s life, a forgone conclusion Lost before it began The wave of all things Slamming you in the chest Kicking you in the teeth Waking you up to face Reality for realities sake I understand that it hurts It always does and will God knows what he’s doing Such an unrelenting bastard Of every cause and effect Slumped over suffering How much more can you take Not that much I suspect How could I even discern How could I possibly relate Because I was there before Many times be assured I won’t ever go back Transcending the idea Of what it means To have little to no control Instead of following others Right off that cliff Instead of where you are I’m right here On the outside I’m looking in Observation Disguised as An unwanted gift My twisted dance Of both the mind And of the spine Never letting me rest A mountain of peace Is truly what I wish But there are only stones Upon the ground at my feet The smallest pieces Of something unobtainable No matter how much I pile everything upon itself I will still be left With nothing greater Than a pile of stones It’s not real in your hands So make your choices And live with them Always do what you must Despite and without regard For anyone or anything else I will observe your change The tedious nature of your ways I will let everyone else know Such a case of self-destruction Should not go unnoticed Or undocumented I’m proud of my ability To paint pictures of people That I could never be With a steady hand And a wide brush I add to the canvas No detail escapes But these words for you May seem to be a waste The question you’re asking Certainly Clearly Without hesitation Is this poem about you Or is this poem about me The best answer I’ll give Is that it is neither about You or I It is about us Two lost souls One who knows it And one who don’t One observer And one questioner It’s not real in your hands… It’s Not Real in Your Hands Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2014. |