~notch~ Poem by Sinnaminsun Sinnaminsun

Hung up on five and awaiting three,
strung unassured when you count-on maybe.
A melancholy-color is all that I see,
some see it gold but its fools' gold to me.

It's stab falls quick with precision and zeal,
taking you deep to where no heart could heal.
And its cut is far worse than you've heard,
come memories impaling without any word.

Maybe a maybe is just an excuse
For no other reason,
than a notch in one's noose.

4-20-08