Gravity like lead, could I be dead?
Can’t focus my mind, can’t feel my legs,
Worn down to the wire and way past the treads.
I’m beginning to think I’m whatever they said.
Eyes half-closed, can’t seem to get out of bed.
What faces me otherwise or stands in my stead
Fills me with fear that I’m frozen to dread.
What grade would I get? Is it marked up in red?
It’s getting harder to breathe, someone please call a med.
I’m in a crowd full of grooms and the only unwed
Away from home for weeks and the fish haven’t been fed,
Maybe manna from heaven or just molded old bread
Perspective is vigilant if I could just lift my head.
No forcing squares into triangles or building tents without pegs
I’m sure I’m not dead while my Creator has more than once said
These destructive and weighted interpretations are all in my head.

Published by kenn

author. developer. illustrator. Renaissance man.

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