Among the Dust-Bunnies
By Jared Winston
I feel like the inside of a cat toy,
Shaken-up, lifeless, devoid
of thought, of meaning, of substance.
Slave to another's will,
disproportionate to my own destiny;
that which is, which was, which I had expected to be.
At times I am forgotten,
discarded with the dust-bunnies and
I feel nothing, inanimate, so why am I cold?
Only the salvation of purpose
keeps me going.
Sitting quietly among the inconsequential.