One person, infatuating Another one, not noticing Foot to foot And wall to wall Walking in air Then the fall onto his face The carpet is uncomfortable, And the pillow wouldn’t do as well As would something from you. A failed attempt and he flees A superficial success surmised. And in an empty exaggeration, He looks to thought While his feelings echo “We don’t know either.” He walks back, Through the blistering Wind and cold, Stuttering, Trying not to slip, On the ice of his mind. And his thoughts melt With drops of regret A forgotten emotion ne’er felt, Nor e’er heard from Footstep by single step Crunching the frosted blades Shattering his hope of a possible situation This juncture has come at last: A decision of impulses, A frustration from infatuation, A questioning of why To which unknown feelings reply “We don’t know either.” Another hang up followed With hollowed contempt. And a slight effort without a heart that Drips and drains all plasma filled blood Leaving it to chance and part To stop at thirteen plus this day. So to marinate this beating core, He clings with static To an empty hope of some kind of mercy Just to ease his icicle shattered mind. What is this concern for you that he possesses? Why look into a mirror that fails to glance back? And the feelings retort “We don’t know either…”
