The ability to tolerate is lost on me!
It is something I do not know...
I type all day, and answer phones.
Just one of many, standard clones...
These shoes upon my feet
Were handcrafted just for me...
I live inside the darkness while you bask within...
Naught but luck divides us two as does the day and...
Com(pell)ing to some
a paedophile of the cloth...
“Be yourself,”
But then they tell me to change...
His knife slowly went through the corners,
as he carefully carved broken crayons...
Those grey years of angst,
Of treading water in a sea of tears...
I wish the world
was not so cold...
Little boy on the snow filled street
giving a smile to all you meet...
It is not the heart
that suffers most...
And as I slip, sliding down this distant path
I still hear the voices, the tin pot radio...