Rasins

 These tears streaming down my face?  They're for the hours I've spent pouring over books not soaking in information because my sleep depraved mind has lost its ability to absorb anything but the haunting melody of voices crying out give me rest.As if our souls are tortured with learning.What a contradiction. 1Working to have a better future but never enjoying the here and now.Ears bleeding berated by blistering words burrowing into the crevices of ever cracking minds.Searching for sympathy and finding only dried raisins forcing their wrinkled skin upon our flesh in hopes that it will teach us a lesson.Well I've got news for them.I've had enough teaching for one day.I'm not a raisin.Not yet anyway.I'm a plump and juicy grape.I don't want their wrinkled canvas to cover my bruises.They make me unique.My very own premature wrinkles.   

Comments

1SP

Your poem was the best. You deserve to go for another round.

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