The Pile

A poem about falling apart that some people can relate to more than others.

We all have our kinks

Scratched, smashed and broken dreams

Leave us with pain to swallow with a drink, some smoke, and watch as our lives and hopes go down the drain.

So instead we think of a place far, far away.

A place beyond tomorrow's yesterday.

Filled with every fantasy we hope to attain.

But when we come back to reality we find ourselves at the brink. Pushing off the ledge with both feet.

Hitting that metaphorical wall or jagged rock bottom where we shovel what remains of who we were, was, or wanted to be off the ground and into a pile.

And there we remain in a pile on the floor or bed. 

Just don’t get trapped inside your own head.

For that place is a labyrinth of emotion.

A place you may go to find answers but find instead only the feeling of being lost.

Where have we to go from here? 

From this pile of broken parts and pieces.

There up on the shelf or in the cupboard you may find some glue or tape. 

But instead of using those things to put ourselves back together we have to take a drink, a hit, or something else instead.

Take a pill or a bite to fill that gaping emptiness inside. 

Try whatever it may take to make this feeling go away if only for a while.

But it won’t help or rather can’t help because even when you run as fast and far away as you can. 

You still find yourself stuck in the same place you were before. Looking in a mirror at the same face you see every morning till the last of your days come to pass.

So try and try again as best as you can, to pull yourself back together.

For self-assemble maybe required. 

Author's Note

Just a poem written for the sake of writing something late at night.