All Nonfiction
- Bullying
- Books
- Academic
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Heroes
- Interviews
- Memoir
- Personal Experience
- Sports
- Travel & Culture
All Opinions
- Bullying
- Current Events / Politics
- Discrimination
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Environment
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
All Hot Topics
- Bullying
- Community Service
- Environment
- Health
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
- Back
Summer Guide
- Program Links
- Program Reviews
- Back
College Guide
- College Links
- College Reviews
- College Essays
- College Articles
- Back
Backtrack
You can look,
says the foul-mouthed, baby-faced boy--
but you won’t find anything.
Backtrack ten years ago in
that dirty apartment and half-shut door,
sneaking eyes and harsh insults.
We came home to broken CDs and empty refrigerators,
some semblance of family, I guess.
It’s disgusting,
continues the wrinkled, saddened, maddened, and everything-else-in-between man--
He’s disgusting.
Backtrack to when nights are days, days are nights
And pain is a constant friend perched on a hobbled shoulder.
Fragmented caresses of to-be love scatters the heavily silent air
And leave the sheets aside unoccupied.
Wait,
screeches the next one, her eyes of
splintered steel and fraying hair--
What did you just say?
Backtrack to the unsatisfied, always unsatisfied
Liquid disappointment runs second blood.
There’s nothing but recycled words that go unheard,
raw throats and grinding teeth;
a skeletal figure with burned-over eyes.
And you--
Feel that welling hole in your chest,
blackening, withering
a tastefully abstract picture
faceless curator.
It’s art, they say,
It’s mine.
Similar Articles
JOIN THE DISCUSSION
This article has 0 comments.