the unhelpful poet

I'm a poet with words but only if i were a poet in life would my day be made and my life be bright. Words so easy, life so hard. A race that that I don't ever have the passion to finish; wanting to stop a handful of footsteps early and watch those who pass me by with a grin etched into their cheekbones. An imprint of every success that they have achieved, while i sit in the ditches searching for the lines that have weathered away against my cold skin. The dust feels so right tracing my tired eyes and the irony dawns in the horizon; unnoticed like a quiet scream from those who dizen.

a.s.b