He knocks around from place to place
Looking for a familiar face
To help brighten this cold dark night
To banish lonelinesses vicious bite
But all he sees is empty halls
Empty booths and empty stalls
Not a friend anywhere in view
Where they all are he has no clue
Left behind just like before
Feeling battered, feeling sore
He's used to this he tells himself
He's used to being put on the shelf
Only taken down when theres a need
To mop up the mess, to stem the bleed
Then back on to the shelf he's driven
While nary a **censor**, for him, is given
There he sits, alone and ignored
Until the next time someone is bored
He tells himself its his lot in life
He tells himself he thrives on strife
He tries to convince himself of this
Though most times it's hit and miss
For deep in his heart he knows the score
He's just a doormat on the floor
The silence lays heavy around his head
It feels all cold it feels all dead
The joy the fun all have flown
Which leaves him feeling lost and alone
Why does it feel that things have changed?
Why does silence now serve where once fun reigned?
Where has all the happiness gone?
Where is the will to carry on?
Topic: My ramblings, poems and stories (Read 4739 times)