Jamie's starring,
at the floor,
Hes wondering why,
hes so down,
and all he can,
do is frown.
The silent medley of Sonatina 8,
dwarfs, holds, resonates,
holding him to the bait.
Plays of eloquently written strife,
now appear manifest in his life.
Crouching down to the floor,
all he feels is tiny yields,
to lessen his life more.
Stories of perfection,
run down his spine,
in sweet sad mis direction,
seemingly hitting his mind.
Powerless to continue,
moves forward to a venue.
Not in vogue, but in store,
Jamie leans to the door.
Holding out a breathless sigh,
Jamie no longer wonders why.
A dead set victory is in his hand,
long ago he wouldn't have stabbed.
But deep, forgotten, strife,
builds up after a period, in life.
So starring at the floor,
Jamie is no longer more,
with a sad bloody side,
Jamie concedes, and no longer cries.
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*It's so vague and terrible, I havent an Idea why I'm submitting it.
idk, i liked it k-rete. i liked the sense of timing the seperation and irregularity of the stanzas gave. hope youll make it to lit mag bro. good luck and god bless
