Idle hands = Death

Callused hands

from a blistered mind,

in overdrive

working overtime.

So naturally

it comes to me,

like a cruising ship

takes to the sea.

But when it drifts

back to the shore,

brings my biggest fear

of being bored.

Creating images

inside my head,

until the day

I wake up dead.

For if I don’t

my brain gets weak,

looking for comfort

in the drugs I seek.

My sober mind

needs stimulation,

as to be kept from

dark isolation.

So in conclusion

or in summary,

I’ll work my hands

until they bleed…



Β© 2017 Joseph Emerson


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