Pretty Cheap

Cheaply love,

forever fitting like a forgotten ragged glove

one broken smile filling empty rooms,

pacing myself to ward off the abuse

fruitless efforts now totally consumed

somehow carelessly misused in my refusal

to accept or in rebellion such neglect of

the lone author of this story

it’s getting horribly difficult to write and you’re worried;

I’ve been awake for three days

fighting the peanut gallery all night

quick responses now unresponsive

“Nothing changed”, from a voice

so monotone it bled the colour from my eyes

derailed thoughts so instinctively sought

as I look for you in drawers and

through piles of dirty clothes

upon the rhythmic lines I carelessly wrote,

among my last memories and in between

the few I regret to have forgotten last week

through the junk that clouds my drifting mind

I’m caught between the truth and a lie

And you’re never where I thought you’d be

I seemed to think this may come easy

the mystics writing is getting cheesy

Sunday dinner silent but greasy

she’s pulling lines from everywhere

from all of us, and losing her touch

what used to flow so effortlessly

now seems to take the best from me and

leave me falling short on cut and shattered wings

a sad and sheltered thing;

courageous in her destiny

a test to be free–

Imprisoned and impressionable, growing gracelessly unaware

by lesser things of deepened Value,

“Is this really all you do?”

it isn’t always how it looks,

a little love is all it took

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