Plush Needles

Plush Needles

A Poem by Mike Goodwin

Just like The Great Gatsby movie. It's all kind of aesthetic...


Lightly pressed but highly vicious,

Dismantled under the pressure of the slightest chore

My mind becomes a mass of lost despair

Like a thermometer that reads higher when it’s cold

And a body that freezes, without first shivering,

Or getting sensuous goose-pimples that seem raw

On a Caucasian, accentuating a tiny hair on that cold body’s arm

Yes, what I do not know

Is if I am lost because I’m in despair or in despair because I’m lost,

Because I can have all the right intentions

And say selfless, passionate things

But, is it empty passion in an ultimately selfish intention,

To save my self, comfort, my health.

Because a man can work tirelessly toward a dream

And the same kind of man lay helplessly dying on a hospital bed

Both are the same

People see both like a glance into eyes

No body looks at just one but they look at the pair,

The set; the million-dollar success and the hospital bed,

And maybe that is why

I sit here every day wanting to do something and doing nothing and

Watching others cry and die, and asking why I cry, and knowing I will die,

There’s no way to know, and the body is cold,

Like the walk home in the rain, from work at the poor place that smells like that non-glamorous America

That musty smell, weird look, and unshakable perception

Of something not-so-comfortable

That broods that sense of ridiculous agony

As unstoppable time never-stops away

© 2013 Mike Goodwin

Author's Note

Mike Goodwin
I'm all you need.

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Added on May 30, 2013
Last Updated on May 30, 2013
Tags: Plush, Needles