Shelf Life

for when u feel like people just pass you by

Shelf life

my book lays open and spread out beneath me,

as i look at it bare, i wonder

if to trust is to be that same book,

exposed to the wrath of the world, and withering away.

perhaps it's better to exist on a shelf,

unopened and forgotten, yet at peace,

shutting all sense away with its binds.

watching countless pass by, reaching for the feeling of one.

So tell me dear reader, what it means to be.

better to float by yearning, or to drown to feel?

better to live in the overshining light, 

or to succumb to the quiet still of the dark?

Author's Note

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