"Disposable"

Just sometimes, when the world is closing in -

and nothing really makes much sense at all -

the moments when the room begins to spin -

the times when you erect your best brick wall


to hide behind - are my words making sense?

I doubt it. Nothing else is. Yes, I said.

I'm torn between the past and future tense -

but mostly, I just want to stay in bed.


The future is what I must always fear.

The past is mine to analyse - dissect.

I'll lose whatever I dare to hold dear.

I feel disposable. Eject - reject.


I care for people who don't value me.

Is this the way my life will always be?