pimPle cHin

pimPle cHin

Grey hairs where a threat like a submarine in foreign waters,

The radio man was a bed time story teller

The TV the nightlight comforter

Musical tunes from the record player was the black out curtains

So much noise for one head to absorb.

painted veins , mottled skin, pimple cheeks and pimpled chin,

Chilling memories on shins.

Grey hairs where like a threat like a submarine in foreign waters

Candle holders gathering dust a reminder that flames once flickered

Hollow bulb sockets once beamed

And empty rooms once breathed in breath like lungs,

It all functioned all made sense.

He wasn’t ready to be old yet

Maturity was too simple

Making a life out of living was too complex

Being broken was awfully perfect.

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