Manage

How thick.

How daft he must be, everyone, to act such a fool.

Meanwhile...

Everything in this room has been scattered. Broken picture frames covered up

By sanctions of the desk that broke in thirds a few nights ago.

For the poor desk, it held the pictures

And those pictures contained much more

Than ink and gloss.

They held hatred

And contempt

And "irrational" thoughts

Of my time spent here, and what would be left of it.

Because this room hasn't been quelled.

No one gave it a proper chance to speak for itself,

Especially the occupant.

Others shot past in acts of sociability

Not talent,

Not work,

But the ability to open their mouths.

While he was promised help on a plane

That couldn't quite be understood, or cured, 

But hushed.

I was promised medicine, Reader,

And a chance to see what would help on a chemical level.

Though it was to me,

Help seemed not of paramount concern to the busy lives of busy men.

I am still on my own no matter how many others are around.

And given the chance to erase thoughts from my filthy, disgusting mind,

And occupy it with the trivial,

Of course I will.

Yet my actions weren't deemed "impulsive" in previous engagements.

I was promised medicine.

A glimmer of hope to quiet the misery of simply existing.

But here I sit in this broken room

With holes in the drywall,

And blood on the carpets

Until something helps.

Not someone,

But a substance.

Author's Note

Please tell me what you think. Ignore the cheap "Reader" cliche.

Reviews

[Glen Yumang Manese]

Starts out with conviction and then just goes from there in the lines...as for the structure of this verse...needs a bit...seems to ramble along...yet may be that's the point of view you wanted to the reader...