Awkwardly Written

Strange life we lead

To avoid pain for nothing

To sit encased in protective layer

Like a comfortable muffin

I don't know this is just another poem

About nothing that sounds like something

Repeating myself stuck in a small corner

Of the imagination

Not seeing the outside

As I sit late night staring at orange light

Reflecting on puddles that sit

On the roofs below

Awkwardly written

Typing while stabbing my thigh

With my elbow bone

Reviews

[Pryde Foltz]

don't know this is just another poem
About nothing that sounds like something
Repeating myself stuck in a small corner
Of the imagination
Not seeing the outside

A poem of listlessness … what are you looking for in those orange puddles.

[Luke L]

indeed, thanks Pryde