That fast


Don’t you
F’ing move.
I tried playing nicely
all iT did Was prove,

That chances,
Like interceptions,
Aren’t given
Their taken.
Thus I myself
Have no time
For examples
Or wasting.

Lay away
With words
Like you
Cover up with paint,
Staring down
The barrel
Makes you think.

Turns one
Could of made
Is gone
Within a blink,
Needed to be said
Never had the chance
Because I couldn’t speak.

Decisions made
That fast
Have nothing
Left To grasp,
Then a momentary
Of hands
When they clasp,

Up to
One an other
Please Make
IT/this touch last,
The current has
Another agenda
Because IT is
Now past.

  1. Very interesting post.

    • TheOthers1
    • March 22nd, 2012

    Hard hitting poetry if I’m interpreting it right. Really like your offering.

  2. Ha…was just thinking about the same thing as I drove across town.

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