Awaiting Audience Participation
Hang the rules of poetry, bring in the guillotine
Electrocute me in the executioner's chair
The death penalty lingers the air
It's the event you can plan for
There's no firing squad suddenly appearing
I cannot help but wonder if the crowd will be jeering
My throat hurts still
My wrists bruised from each cuff
Finally my crimes are deemed 'enough'
Let me excuse myself for my words
I'm just feeling overwrought
Crazily I should have given it all more thought
Contain me for I'm angry
It's not a feeling that will last
Ulysses may advocate I am strapped to the mast
Extricate me from this wearisome position
In the constant eye of the storm
It's not a place where meaningful ideas form
I'll rest on this stone pillow
Self persecution seems alluring
As feeling so sorry for myself has become boring
Copyright © Last Script | Year Posted 2024
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