I drink you in and swallow
Your offering slides down
Watered down, a diluted drink
The potency weak, left
Half buzzed, half high
Half drugged...barely

Who wants to feel fuzzy?
Fumbling around with mittened hands
Handicapped by coverings, always
The look in your hooded eyes
Mouth open, uttering nothing
I want to hear, eyes unblinking

It is the witching hour
Fascinated with the unnatural
The decaying. Zombies rock
Unreal is far more interesting
Mechanical people, voices stiff with
Unrealized, unanswered expectations

I say to you "this is your life"
Reduced to a tv screen and reruns
Too scared to turn the channel
Dare to be different
And yet, night after night
We lay suspended, inert, wooden
Puppets on a string
Our actions tightly controlled
By your grip on the past
Unwilling to break free

The option of something new
Strangling you to inaction
And I, nothing more than
A transitory story, a
Character that can be gone
With the flip of a page
Forgotten as the plot develops
A footnote in the end
After the story
Has been told

This is awesome. Way to express a rather universal experience in a beautiful and very original key. There's a lot of personality in your descriptions of the inanimate. Really love this piece.

I like it!

Contrasting dismay, dead in their oh-so special way.
Robotic,,hypnotic, possible border-like psychotic.
captured,,raptured, They have themselves,totally mastered..

NICE WRITE Pam,,,,,

Tazzops-thanks
Plastic- I value all your comments
Sherrie-glad you liked :)
Terry-what a poetic response

This was great...

this was griping, culminating in the absolute ever-present truth;

sometimes we don’t get to write the final chapter.


great job (P)

very much enjoyed your write.

Ditto...

VERY nice :-)