Have I resolved myself into
the most stalled of human conditions,
making myself wander through paranoid graveyards in
admiration of the ghosts that frequent these
decrepit scenes from a memory?
Why do I insist on being unable to bury my artifacts,
my once prevalent recklessness and abandon?
Have I detoured myself into the right direction for once,
only to find that the road is bumpier, more tumultuous
than the one I was on before?
Time tells all in this case, but do I have the ability
to just ease back and let it take control of
the wheel of this slowly sputtering car in the
middle of this one way street?
My vitality seems to be
draining ever so slightly every single day,
not enough to be immediately noticed, but when the
monster begins flashing his wicked smile
to the consensus, his fangs
could bite harder than any natural beast.


About Robert L. Franklin

Ah, the About Me section - social networking's excuse for you sounding like an elitist prick. Hmm... what to say? What to say?
This entry was posted in Springtime In Atlantis and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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