Flaked out...

Flaking paint betrays the wall,

The water gets thicker with residue,

The floor betrays my fall,

The other side losing didn’t dampen you,

Here I am with my wrists to spoil,

With my mind full of thorns,

Restarting requires my trouble and toil,

Buried in ember to earn my corn,

Late morning renders me a spluttering engine,

Everything I lack,

Motivation only seems prominent in hatred distension,

Climbing vertically with too much slack.

Reviews

[Chris Shaw]

The part mentioning wrists has this reader worried. The first stanza describes a very run down scene. Maybe a grotty bedroom somewhere. Damp and nasty. There is something depressing going on here. I got the feeling of someone losing it altogether. You created the right ambience for this poem. Thanks for the read. Nicely composed and expressive.

Chris

[light and ashes]

I like how you take mundane imagery and write it in a way that is still very interesting to read.

[John the Baptist]

Has the sound of despair to it. The part about wrists to spoil is disturbing. Hope it doesn't mean what I suspect.