Just something I wrote on the train back home today. I'm currently taking poetry at uni- it seems to have pushed me to write more.
Polyester high-beams, taste,
something of fire-retardant,
and feel as if dried-mucus,
crackled like a jaundiced boil.
Voices, jittering, political complaints,
superficial critique of the economy-
Monotonous, monotone, like a phone call.
If only they were more like a mirror,
shattered and twinkling brightly-
that would capture my attention.
Earphones nestled, close to eardrums,
fingertips rolling, over and over,
but I can still hear, the booming,
of disenchanted single-mothers
and the mutterings of the medicated.
It seems, they only speak to themselves,
their lips fumbling over syllables,
hands opened with stressed-contractions-
I know, I know, what you're saying is important,
but I, do not want to listen.
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