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Staring at a Chair
written by: Criss Tripp
I'm chatting with a chair,
ensnared, I can't bare to stare at;
because no one's there.
Without a care, it's not quite fair,
I'm not prepared, to stare at a bear.
Despite I'm aware with despair,
it's locked solitaire, inside of the air.
I'm looking at the reasons why,
and listening to my fears.
I can't explain how this happened,
or why no one's here.
But yet, still I sit, near a beer,
betwixt a reasonable picture of the year.
I'll leer and sneer, appear to disappear;
for all of the wrong reasons, it's clear,
why no one couldn't be here.
This is weird, I'm scared,
beyond repair, without a spare;
not unlikely that my hairs on end.
No friends to lend nor rent,
just my head within,
and the things I've said.
I'm fixed again,
as I speak in pen.
I just ride along, as I try to fit in,
lying like I had some compassion to give.
Just another day I live,
is completely with sin.
This isn't the first time,
I thrived for a disguise.
My life is a lie, not a ride that I like.
It's not that I despise the fight,
it's just that I have to be right;
not in my mind, just when I write.
But that's as fine as benign,
just one more time I can rhyme.
As sad and as bad as it sounds,
now that no one here is around.
Alone I'm found, as my voice is loud.
I vow from now, to denounce this frown.
And all that's fine in time I'll sigh,
I'll try to hide as I unwind.
For here I'll sit uncomfortable with a wish,
that karma too can't be like this.
Now I know I'm off and go unnoticed,
as I turn off this burning furnace.
So I can sit and stare at this chair,
not to wonder why no one is there.