A melancholic frolic
That’s what we’re here for
They act like you’re important
They act like they like you
So long as you fit their image of you
Or they need you
But once they’re done
They’ve had their fun
You hear from them no more
Because what are friends for
If nothing more than another to leave you behind
When they’re interest is no longer on the line
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I First Saw Him
When I first saw him sitting on the wall, relaxed and looking out over the water, I was sure he wasn't a local. Not including children, there are only about 250 or 300 of us in this area full-time, though that number is ten-fold in the summer, and I know everyone at least by sight or by family resemblance. And yet, the way he sat looked familiar and started my mind sorting and discarding among the families I knew, not quite like this one, not quite like that one.
By Natalie Wilkinson7 days ago in Fiction
Comments (7)
True, sadly.
How many have we left in our wake? For me, far too many.
Think we have all been here.
Sadly, there are sooo many people like this! Loved your poem!
Fantastic poem!
Fabulous!!! Spectacularly written especially the rhyming!!!
Sadly, some are like this