Untitled

written on the first day of 2017

I'm writing this because I'm bored,

Stuck in a room while it's raining outside.

There's a torn contact lens in my left eye

or even one and a half.

but who knows?

Perhaps it has dropped out without me knowing

Like to some times of my life,

things happen without any meaning.

The itchiness is still there irritating me,

a foreign piece of object living under my eyelids.

Where should my mind be at?

Why is there so much rain in this country?

How come people praise happiness so often?

Why am I not who I wanted to be a few years ago?

Why do I hesitate when I'm asking myself these questions?

Is this still a poetry or is it feeling narrated?

Two young man sitting in a small room,

escaping rainfalls and coldwind of the new year,

yet I haven't ever felt so alive,

in the first day of a new year.  

Reviews

[lua]

a cleverly poetic portrayal of a mundane thought process, the narrator's mind stolen by the irritation of their eye before resuming to pondering upon the scene that greets them. this manages to capture the peculiar atmosphere that encumbers the first day of the year

[cocktail of blues]

Thanks, I'm flattered by your comment!

[Hell in a Hip Flask]

Still my favourite poem Rex, love how it catches the uncertainty of the new year and the self reflection it creates through the depiction of such a simple moment, the imagery of the eye lens is some good s**t man

[cocktail of blues]

Thanks George. Tbh, im curious about what kinda image you have when you're reading the eyelens line.