Playing Guns [ Poetry ]

Just Talk

Talk

To someone

Is what they say

in the leaflets

next to the office.

As if when you do,

everything will be solved

and everything

will finally

be over.

So when you ask me

why I'm not eating

I tell you

everything...                                           

About my simply giant breakfast.

And how I ate my body weight

in French toast.          

And how I'm just

too...

full.                         
                                                                      

So when you ask me

why I my face is red

and I keep rubbing my eyes

I tell you

everything...

About how I was up so late

doing... homework.

And how I was woken by my brother

far too early in the morning.

And how I'm just

really...

tired.

So when you ask me

where the marks on my arm came from,

I tell you

everything

About how I'm always helping my dad
With fixing the car

and stuff.

And I keep scraping myself

on all the wire.

And they're

just...

accidents.

So now I talk

as much as I can.

But I can't help

realising

that all I can say

are lies...

And I know,

I know

I can trust you

and I can tell you

the truth.

It's just...

I've forgotten

how.

I'm so sorry for all this depressing crap. I just can't seem to do any else at the moment. I'll try and actually do something nice next time.