When the music stops there’s dreadful silence.
Someone who sounds like you is not you.
Blissful moments cannot be replicated.
It’s unfair to measure the present with yesterday’s tape.
This suit does not fit, but it’s the only clothes I have.
It’s either this or being naked.
Why show skin no one will touch?
Why have skin when I can’t feel?
There’s a bird house for sale.
I think I might buy it to house my soul.
By tuttysan © 2015
For a Spanish version of this poem, click here.