No calls or messages
Nobody got problems
So I collect dust like a bible on the shelf of an atheist
Who once believed in some distant past
Now venturing out into the world trying to forget their past
Once respected and feared and more trendy than men with beards
So full with knowledge but left feeling so empty
Nobody wants help, and nobody to help me
Left all alone looking for some answers from within
Prying my soul open through unmastered jazz instrumentals
Like is this the life cycle of the minstrel
Where I’m too afraid to talk cause of the belief my problems are so miniscule
In a world where the ones that matter ain’t the ones that built you up
But those that saw you at the top
And requested you to pay for them picking you up….

By: The Poet Q


One thought on “Untitled

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