Graffiti.
When done well, it can be an art form, I believe.
But on this picnic table
Covered in red paint,
Is the result of several teenagers
Searching for a little fame.
A way to make themselves be seen.
A place to put their names.
It makes me sad, really,
All the “so and so loves so and so.â€?
What really breaks my heart,
Is the “alwaysâ€?, though.
“Always and “Forever.â€?
They had no idea!
I remember being in their shoes.
I wouldn’t think, I’d feel.
That fuzzy word of “alwaysâ€?
Put me to sleep at night.
But now, it’s almost scary.
A gristly beast of a descriptor,
Causes cold sweats and shivers,
Nails on a chalkboard to my ears.
A poor oboist in the orchestra of
My existence.
It used to be so beautiful,
Snuggling up to me like a little kitten,
Purring on my chest,
Lulling me to sleep with it’s sultry,
Silken song.
But now I just see how
“Alwaysâ€?
Is near imaginary.
The truth is in the
N
O
W