Raise Yer Heads, Gents, It Can Only Get Worse

What is holding you down on the ground when everything else is floating up?

Philosophy speaks to let go of any Earthly anchors.

I wear my expiration date on my sleeve so what’s even the point

in leaving this place behind in red and white?


Too fucked up to read between the lines or drink so that they make sense.

I’ll embrace the names of my sins:

Regret, mistake, the very worst to ever be made.

Sew it together and it’s the portrait of a man

waiting for the hurricane to engulf all.


When I held your hand, I asked you, “could this be real?”

And you looked into my eyes and said, “it’s too much to feel.”

So I’ll be buying calendars as I wait for nothing to remain nothing,

but still hoping the words you trade are always meant for me.


The greats of our time told us all to stay out of line,

think abstract and teach us to look out.

As my eyes crawl up my wrist and trip over the trenches,

as my body wrestles with the obstacles of curves and edges,

I fail to see a lesson here.

I fail to see a lesson here.


And the last words that come into your head before you are dead,

are that “the mistakes we made, make us who we are today.”

( ❤ Mitch)

3 Comments

Leave a Reply to silent poetry Cancel reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s