It's Over

I remember the night my poetry died

It was last night

Last night, someone decided to kick me to the curb

Last night, someone just had to let me know

Last night, I was hated for no known reason

If that doesn't kill your urge to create

You must be a fucking statue

Here I was

A toddler on a trike

Riding to somewhere at a very slow rate

It didn't matter where I was going

It didn't matter how fast

I was moving

Of my own volition

And then someone drops a sack of hammers on me

Someone squishes the life out of my little body

and ruins my little trike

Who knows where that little trike

could have gone

who knows where it would have taken me

Maybe it was just across the street

But maybe, just maybe

That trike was going to take me across the sky

We'll never know now

Cause the trike is mangled

The tot is squished

The sack of hammers has been thrown

and my poetry is dead.