Submitted to OpenLinkNight with dVersePoets on Tuesday 4th December.
Bags of time sag endlessly over the mind’s eye.
They cloud every aspect of a day, and they still try
To eat into the insects infested in the lesson, lunch, tea break and sleep.
Muggy, grey clouded aura.
Smiling politely, nodding silently,
Recoiling towards a blissful clam,
Sleep and darkness, away from the dazzling aches of the day.
Self-infliction of self reveals a true identity: a true picture?
Or a matisse inspired manipulation, accentuating fault and shadowing praise,
Cross-hatching your peceived confidence.
Tonight is empty,
a cavernous expense of pleasantries and misshapen greetings.
We sat in blissful noise,
an excuse to feel wanted
within their crowd.
They often appear, disappear, reappear
and each time, someone else affirms
their obnoxious importance:
how do we look from above your nose?
My frustration burns behind a mask
of polite defiance, not being one
to rock the proverbial boat.
The next night remains empty,
false and empty,