Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god
Like a cracked Etch-A-Sketch
The view is weird and distorted,
Like a cracked Etch-A-Sketch.
Everything is gray and obtrusive.
Bereft of any distinguishable details,
Rotting away on my bedroom floor,
Where my tears lay planted in the rug.
I’m still waiting for my fairytale prince
To climb up this beanstalk of emotion
And take me away to his castle of happiness
Somewhere in a beautiful forested land of fancy.
I shake the broken toy from childhood
And remember masterpieces from greater days
When I was still pure and in a form
Untouched by the evils of this world.
Even then, I still cried my heart out to no one.
Some habits just never change.
Sometimes, I wish someone would pick me up,
Shake me and get rid of the ugly image
Produced on my face from guilt.
I guess I, too, am a like a cracked Etch-A-Sketch.
July 23, 2004
Like a cracked Etch-A-Sketch.
Everything is gray and obtrusive.
Bereft of any distinguishable details,
Rotting away on my bedroom floor,
Where my tears lay planted in the rug.
I’m still waiting for my fairytale prince
To climb up this beanstalk of emotion
And take me away to his castle of happiness
Somewhere in a beautiful forested land of fancy.
I shake the broken toy from childhood
And remember masterpieces from greater days
When I was still pure and in a form
Untouched by the evils of this world.
Even then, I still cried my heart out to no one.
Some habits just never change.
Sometimes, I wish someone would pick me up,
Shake me and get rid of the ugly image
Produced on my face from guilt.
I guess I, too, am a like a cracked Etch-A-Sketch.
July 23, 2004
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Like a cracked Etch-A-Sketch
Like a cracked Etch-A-Sketch
