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

dropped crumbs.

I feel nothing, inanimate, so why am I cold?

Only the salvation of purpose

keeps me going.

Sitting quietly among the inconsequential.




Previous Next