The Park & Other Me
I just wanted to pretend to be talking to someone while traveling across some dystopian world. And then decided to write it down in poems I shall upload every other week if asked to. I refer to the imaginary person as other me. I hope you enjoy it...if that's your thing.
Other me, what do you see
When we walk down the street
Hand in hand with no jackets on
Winds howling and biting at us
As we walk through this park
What do you see?
Is it the trees? They are all dead
Their leaves have rotted away
Their peeled bark is forever gray
Is it the little boy playing with the dirt
With not a care that his toys are gone
Or that his friends are not there at all
Because he never had them to start with
Is it the man sitting nearby watching
So sad that the boy must grow up
Paying for the mistakes of someone
He has never met or heard of
Is it the way the man shakes
As he coughs red into his hand
Is it this cracked concrete we tread
With this brown grass poking through
Like fingers out of a premature grave
Is it your shoes with stark white laces
You stare at rather than see any faces
Or that this city is slowly dying, then?
You will not answer so I must be wrong.
Let us guess what you must notice:
Is it me as I talk with you?
Knowing whatever I say will
Pass right through you like
This wind that whips us
Is it the sharp smell of copper?
Knowing that there is no need
for small change in this place
It must be the other thing
Is it the paleness of my face?
I could pass for a vampire now
Thanks to the monster in my veins
Is it the way I start to shake?
Knowing it could be the cold
Or something much worse
Is it the way I cough up red?
Hmm.I dunno. Should I continue?