Tale Of A Poet Behind The 8 Ball
You lock yourself in a dark room,
at this point, it is of no point,
that what if it is a sunny day.
Let it rain instead, you thought.
Phone rang, doorbells as well,
neither one would worth answering.
Closing in on all,
’twas such a good plan, to not plan.
It was not all like this back then,
when you could still see green patches,
when you could still see sunrise,
when you could still feel security.
Regrets, so much, so unbearable.
What if I could turn it all back,
that question you cannot stop asking.
‘Buy’ had became ‘Bought’.
Spend, spending, spent.
Just like tenses, tales of time,
an indisputable timeline.
A lesson well learned indeed.
For the hundredth time, perhaps,
plenty tried to reach into your thick shell.
Finally, though, you answered,
“Leave me alone, my wallet is empty.”