Probably Not Children's Books Poem by Charles Malcolm
Probably Not Children's Books
Funny,
the pain that
we endure
just
to
spare
the feelings
of others.
Everything is fine,
we mumble with fat cheeks
dead eyes
black lungs
and dribbling chins.
I'm going to kill myself
once my mother dies,
my good friend said to me.
Talk to somebody
other than me,
I told him,
and once they stop listening,
which they will,
try writing.
Saturday, May 23, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: life,suicide,writing
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4/25/2024 12:08:23 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Great advice you have given. The pen is a healer. I have a great understanding of your words. Thank you