Lock me in a box andA Poem by Ivy
I don't understand why I keep tripping over your remains or how I manage to guess my way around the rules when I haven't even figured out how to give myself away like a cheap backdoor deal, let alone kill you in passing. But the build up is the best; the creation is what makes it worthwhile; I don't have the patience to enjoy artwork, so I try to drag out the making of until I have to cut it down dead, because playthings aren't supposed to talk back. I have a habit of picking up pieces and sewing them together with my own time, and I never seem to realize how that's dying as the end. I always jump to page three, instead of forty-two. I'm a logical thinker, but in matters of your heart, I forget that I'm supposed to have one. Cut me down before you learn how, and you might be in the clear. You've got a plan, but you're queued; you'd think in such a long line of bones that someone might point out that you're too abstract for a second thought. I would, but my mind is a little weathered to begin with, so I think I'll drag that goat around for the time being. So sorry for the confusion, I didn't know. No, I know the answers are kept in the back, but I can't be caught cheating or I'll lose my place in point. Don't distract me with answers I already know and don't fling the turned up dirt in my face as if I didn't notice that I'm not the best at concealing the aftermath. Luckily or not, I don't know what trick shop my mask is from and I don't particularly want to find out. Lock me in a box and feed me blood, someone is going trip me eventually.
© 2011 Ivy
Added on July 4, 2011
Last Updated on July 4, 2011
AboutHere's my poetry. The good, the bad, the downright horrendous. Take it for what it's worth. If you choose to critique it, be brutal. Poets of interest: William Shakespeare, E.E. Cummings, Sylvia Pla.. more..