Mediocre Is My Middle Name.

I can't think of a decent title.

This body I've worn has taken blows.
Child's play.
Limbs arrayed in absent abandon
While this heart plays the functioning part of broken

Collectively, our lives failed
Extremities withered beyond recognition

Fear and love and self loathing
Attraction interfering with mind and body

What will I have left to keep me company?
Fleeting memories, spent days, long past
Pretense, upon unfaltering pretense,
Coupled with slight presence

A shadow, faltering to pick up the pieces.
It was all sugar coated whispers and lies
You and I, tasting our extravagant alibi,
When reality had nothing to offer.

Pray, old age set in.
Senility befriend.
Lives, seeded, then buried in soil
Roots grasping plaintively for the all too tangible fruits of my toil

I dedicate this particular arrangement of words, syllables, assonance, metaphor, to you, and your all too human affect upon me.