It's like an itch I just can't scratch.
A hole - long past being patched.
Submarine that's blown its hatch.
Burning for me to react.
Dug deeper into this hole.
Refusal to breath the mold.
Circumstances getting quite old.
Chaos keeping its hold.
~I.S.~
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Author:
Introverted Sage (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 22nd, 2024 14:12
- Comment from author about the poem: 10.2024.01
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 21
- Users favorite of this poem: GenXer Shamrocker ☘️
Offline)
Comments1
Esoteric, eh? You know, our symptoms matched those of souls who needed to be hospitalized for poison ivy exposure but we were informed it wasn't a reaction to that. And if you dared to yield comfort to that itch you'd learn about far worse torture within seconds. But I digress. Pardon me, please.
This is a pretty little number, fascinating and rendered to effect its poignancy less easily than usual. Lovely. Thank you for sharing.
...and no matter how much you scratch and dig - the true depth never reached.
Thank you for your time and comment! You are appreciated 🙂
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