I could be

I told myself I could fit the world

like jigsaw pieces, shattered

By the hand of an unruly parent

shouting at a small child

Angry at his obsession with

Fixing things back in their place.
I could even be the melody

droned on and on by a lonely

kid, sitting in the corner of

a graveyard. But dead memories

were not what I could be
Some deranged, bedraggled devil

Sporting dark eyes and a ravenous

smile. And hair that echoes midnight

complete with a silver moon that

yearns for the touch of the sun.
I could be everything.

The sand, the foam, the window

where the sun beat down its fury

Yet I was nothing.

I had no place in paradise or purgatory.

What happens when you try to fit the world? When you try to be something you’re not? This account tries to explain the turmoil in a symbolic way.

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3 thoughts on “I could be

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