30 April 2015

a Bit Suicidal

Tread softly, the ice is thin
why lie when there's nothing to win
Head's filled with negativity again
eye to eye, a shit eating grin

Unsaid words echoed within
implied what's felt is a sin
Denied pleasures of the skin
widespread frustration settled in

Dead man's waltz on a violin
reply sarcastically, backhand to the chin
Red stained floors of the loony bin
dry eyed until the tears begin

Copyright © 2015 Patrick B Vince

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