Almost a cliche now
The weight of stuff, enough
To drag your feet
Through ashes on the street
As if walking anywhere 
Really made a difference

The merry go round
Of pleasure, pain, shame
Of doing right and being wrong
The exception to the rule
Interminable

Rule your world 
Castigate and reconcile
Slap your face, the sting 
That lays you on the tiles 
Waiting for yet another
Second chance

The weight of everything
Black hole of regret, begets
An inconstant reverie
Lets you lie there for a second
Or a day, or more
Or 
not 
at 
all

For more poetry, click here.