Chris G. Vaillancourt

Silver Star - 3,046 Points (April 5,1959-june 2016 / Canada)

Fresh Air In A Stale Room - Poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt

A breath of fresh air crawls over me.
I surrender to its awful implications.
I wish I could appear stronger.
I wish I could leave as a man.
But I cannot say a word.
Can not utter a single sound.
I'm too much in love with misery.
So to misery I travel again.
Wish it wasn't so.
Wish it wasn't me.
Wish I could live but as it is,
I cut my hair.
I cut my nails.
I cut my heart.
Nothing bleeds.
Nothing hurts.
Nothing feels.
Everything in me is like a breath
of stale coffee.
A touch of moulding cigarettes.
Summer comes and goes.
Winter brings defeat.
Spring is fresh flowers.
Fall is their death.
Like me.
Like you.
Like us.
I cry.
I sleep.
I die inside.
Won't you take the time to join me?


Comments about Fresh Air In A Stale Room by Chris G. Vaillancourt

  • Brian Jani (5/13/2014 8:42:00 AM)


    Interesting I enjoyed reading this one keep it up (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Poem Edited: Friday, December 17, 2010


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