THREADS

We cradle our confessions
Feed them sour milk and cookies
Raise them up as orphans
Steal their futures without looking
Stunt their growth with choices
Denying voices
Except your own
A fate that’s sealed deceptively
Replacing canvas with pixels
Painting with a thousand words
All different shades of white
Sugar sweet delights
Clogging arteries with sludge
Though I can’t begrudge a slug
That walks a sharp razor’s edge
Whistling a tune that’s more a dirge
A scratched 45 to be exact
Skipping past the question marks
Hanging just above your head
You replaced the life you gave me
Left me hungry for illusions
Missing
Purposely forgotten
Faces on a ceiling from my youth
Shades of stains you mixed to gray
Or rust or blood fading
Into a pale existence
The words you spoke
Became the same
Just changed the order
Replaced a name
Some pens with chalk
Like gypsy speak or doubletalk
Intentional monotony spews
It’s all the same view, yes?
Warped?
Skewed?
By things you say
Fame you crave
Time you save
Plastic wrapped
Like picnic forks and knives
Dull cutting nothing but the air
No colors to rage
Just tolerable beige
Yet confessions never truly grow
Especially when they’re not your own
Anybody can create pain
Tell a story as their own
Woven from the threads
Of someone else’s life

TM DiSarro

©2021 TM DiSarro / MindScapes Publishing

New Book Available:

getbook.at/thebushman

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