poem

Pressed Flat

Pressed flat by train tracks and stacks of back order books
The hooks in the eyes are no surprise
Inside the lines but outside the mind
Finely tuned death machines
Huge disappointments stemming from diamond rings
Things not to be taken lightly
Slight of hand

The hands of time untied
then time flies
Battle cries cry out
every doubt in mind says to quit
But we stick with it
even though the pain is deep
It creeps into the crevices of the heart
Get ready
here comes the start of the end

Fend off attacks day to day
Act like it's okay
The hurt will stay and sink
Until the pink skin of youth is turned black and blue
The people around don't have a clue and neither do we it seems
We've given up on hopes
We've discontinued to dream