Feelings have spilled
on the floors of my chest cavity
swept aside to keep the peace.
The following morning
it remains
scrub it with rationale
it slightly fades.
Forgot my feelings were
like blood
messy, dyeing
each sense of wrong
gouges the heart
spilling inside the soul.
Takes me back
to memories of weakness
doormat-cy.
Like Mob psycho
the little things
stack until explosion.
So I scrub and scrub away
rinse and dry the pain
find a soft carpet
to hide and leave
cause such feelings can't be bandaged
on my own.
Best to reflect
and bury
as I was slightly in the wrong.
This roof is not my own
It is not my place to avenge myself
I have to leave such feelings alone
and only pray
that my tolerance
doesn't suddenly vanish someday.
About the Creator
Getting Serious About Comedy (Part I)
If I were asked to remark on my life and the childhood that paved some road leading me to this point, I would have to say something about all the funny people who surrounded me for the last 26,872 days (and counting). Somewhere along that road, I became a big fan of laughter and the comedy that spawns it – and, I mean not only my own laughter, but the laughter of others, some of which I have actually been responsible for inducing.
By John Oliver Smith3 days ago in Humor
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