The poor man and his cup
his most treasured possession,
seated on the dry, broken ground
Is he better off six feet under?
Is his cup better off deserted?
or perhaps filled with tears of his wretched soul?
a man’s fate destined for Hades
finding no sense in ‘alive’
seeing the graveyard in his fantasies
in his sub-conscious.
scratching the goddamned earth
searching for a fill,
bingo!like a jackpot…an idea pops up
the man suddenly possessed!
grabs the next sharp object
slashes his finger off,
getting an high
As he stares at the blood dripping slowly but surely in the cup
it gets its fill
the man’s content,
as he find company in pain.
It embraces him
the voices in his head begin…the shout..they taunt!
the cup,like a slave to gravity,lands
million different pieces
and the blood spills!
Is there hope for a wretched soul?