Thursday, October 11, 2012

Someone Take Away the Fat Kid's Microphone

Go into the icebox
Look for a thing to eat
Find nothing there
The shelves inside,
The are all so bare
Slam the door
Be stale with rage
Your anger hastens,
Blinds and you fall
The floor is cold
But not familiarly so
Your mind hurts
Make it quiet now
Found you cannot
Count ceiling tiles
Find out they are odd
Just like your circus
Get up off the floor
No one has come,
Rescuers are not about
You look silly there
Besides looking lame,
You have much to do
No one will do it for you
Hurry before the ink dries
Your little pen wanes
And your backpack,
It withers quickly away
Do all the many things,
That you once set to do
Especially the important stuff
Like what you dreamed,
Way back in the second grade
Don't feel sorry for time
It's gone and not coming back
But you, You are still here
So pack a bag or two
Get on a moving train
Let it take you there,
To where you were going
Before you fell down again

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