Bored of the Flies
The mind is a child
Feral, feathered, and wild
Focus
small strange one
Matted and hungry
Chasing passing peculiar’s the second
my eye leaves your sight
Where are you going now?
Good boys sit
and breathe
Our backs hurt
and our knees cramp
yet we believe in a future where the suffering
was worth it
So sit by my side young wildling
Shake in your restless nature
Chew on your own hand while you watch
the thoughts you so ravenously want to devour
pass us by like lightning bugs
in the middle of a dark field
Stifle your sniffles at the many missed opportunities
to hold a handful of those glowing bugs
They are not yours
nor mine
Just sit
and watch
as they blink
in
and out
of existence
.
.
.
