Discombobulated
A Poem
Days pass like a game of Tetris This block here, that one there Rebuilding my life with sticks, but no flint to make a fire Faint memories of only months Static, didactic, apoplectic I’m like a crossword puzzle with all the wrong answers What day is it today? A day like all the others Someday, any day, this day
My brain on rapid-fire but without proper aim so I spray my thoughts about and even my graffiti has no context, it is not art because I am not an artist Just a shell of a person who used to have it together and now spends every day Discombobulated
© Jonathan Greene 2020
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