I’ve no breath and I’ve no status,
Nor a method to my madness.
I’ve no colour, I’ve no line,
So what good am I?
Without solace, without pride,
No spotlight and no place to hide,
Caught up catching in the rye,
So what good am I?
Fill me. Play me. I’m your game.
I’m an empty picture frame -
Silent, pretty, with no name.
And what good am I?
YOU ARE READING
Poems I Almost Burned (Along with My Sanity)
PoetryWhat starts with a sandbox and ends with an epigraph? My first collection of poems.
