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  • Writer's pictureShane Richardson

Waste of Space

Set sail across the vale of mind,

And watch your worries trail behind.

To fail and cry is just a part of life we choose to live by.

Try and try to make it better, stamp and seal truth in every letter.

Wear my heart on my sleeve;

Watch it deeply breath the coffee seed nestled deep in my favourite sweater.

What could be better? What could be better?

Watching midday TV; same shows on repeat;

See the same, feel the same,

The race we're running's just a game.

Weight of winning's on the watcher.

Feel the weight of winning on my shoulders.

Add your bags. "What makes a difference?

No one listens anyway."

I think that way every couple days.

A dark dismay has filled my room;

The lamp shade's grey, the palest moon.

The stars fade too soon.

Dimness plays across them keys

I wonder do my lost lovers ever think of me.

Selfishly I'm down in dumps.

Trust me love, mood is peak and slumps.

My shoulders.

My shoulders, heavy.

Another grey Monday;

Mundane, no pain, no love, just static on my hands.

The gloves been lying on the side too long.

Tensing up, need to be strong

Just play along, it's better that way.

It's easier.

Clear as crystal, long as days.

Break a glass, throw a tantrum;

See if my lover stays.

Am I worth a break?

Am I worth the crash?

Am I worth the break?

Should I even ask?

Lashing out, breaking walls

Push you to the edge, pull me let us fall.

Is this all there is?

What is love but a word that we could say when it suits?

What's the weight of a word if the actions never follow through?

I love you.

I love you.

I swear I do.

Through hollow streets and corridors,

Echoes of the past can't be ignored;

Reverberating round the city.

Brown hair, brown eyes, tanned and pretty.

Grinding teeth, nitty gritty.

Damn intense, lacking sense.

Smoke a cigarette; I fucking hate the taste in the past tense.

What a waste of space we're using up.

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