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Paths We Wore

I live my life like an unmarked grave
You walk right by and never see
Another insignificance
Not trifled with popularity
You label me a troubled child
You feed me pills and therapy
You talk like I'm not in the room
Not seeing me see you not seeing me

The brush is growing up over
All those paths we wore
I don't know if I am capable
Of wearing anymore

An unmarked marker full of bones
The emptiness inside this hole
Won't reveal who it is in here
The stone, expressionless, my soul
You don't hear the echoes from within
Granite walls produce stone silence
The laughter of the carefree ones
Mocks right through me just like violence

The brush is growing up over
All those paths we wore
I don't know if I am capable
Of wearing anymore

Sometimes a song might have a bridge
We cross into a different place
Sometimes a bridge is nothing more
Than just a jumping off place

(bridge)

So now my marker has a name
Weeds grow up around the stone
I don't leave you some lofty moral
I leave you irony, filled with bones
Don't bother asking yourself why
Don't ask why you didn't see
Just talk like I'm not in the room
Not seeing me see you not seeing me

The brush is growing up over
All of those paths we wore
I have grown incapable
Of wearing anymore

 © John Kennan 12-1-19
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Submitted by rankstranger7 on May 24, 2021

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    "Paths We Wore" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 31 Jul 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/100824/paths-we-wore>.

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