Afterthought

A poem

And, so it ends. Not entirely how it began. I’m rocking a frock that’s choking my whim. It’s a mockery — the willfulness that I display Upon knowing that I’m here to stay.

It’s not a process. It’s got all the stock — Characters in a thriller-less plot. Everyone is full of trust. Here, we have some Lies. A must. Full thrust.

As it flows, I see the bits and pieces. Descending upon a restless bed of leeches. All the good ones are displayed along A backdrop of dismay. Words, all tattered, Giving the melody all away.

So, it begins. Not exactly how it ends. I’m in the doldrums, and I sing the sin. It’s enviable the plight that I’m in — one Of healing and redemption.