Boggled

His weekends were spent stumbling,
Trails of suspicion and chaos,

A crazed volunteer of bad habits,
Bent spirits sat squeezing excess.

Inside a thousand fuzzy memories
Filled with greedy old delights,

Where wonder misplaced his adventure,
And his sacrifice boggled despair,

He ate words under bridges
And scoffed at the workers,

He diarised failure and pickled his fortune,
Hunted shadows and purpose

And sank into the former,
In the corner where the lucky lie lost.

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One Response to “Boggled”

  1. Russian Billy Says:

    this one was so real

    Sent from my iPhone

    >

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