14 days left

Some Very short, fictitious poems.


The music,
an emotion-inducing drug
in this silent,
white place.

Why Mondays Make Me Want to Dance

The future is clear
my days laid out
five total
a marching straight line.
School
school
school
some work in between
talking to my friends if I'm lucky.
And it's all I can do
not to scream
to run away
so terrified of day to day life.
So all I can do
-for I must do something-
is dance.

Deaths of the Young

They say
it is a tragedy. That he died too young.
Of food poisoning,
a car crash,
drowning in a lake.

They say
she had dreams.
And it is so sad
that she never got to live them out.

I wonder
if it is more tragic to die young,
without an opportunity to live out your dreams
or to live long enough
to realize
that you never realized them all.