a quick poem

Quick decisions
Are the hardest to make.
If I think it through,
It could be too late.
If I act now it could
Devastate.
No time to think
Just enough to act
But fear of loss
Holds me back
But not too move
is even worse.
You can feel the end coming
On a large pale horse

The Boredom

My body senses it Before I do.
Legs prick,
And arms tingle.
I stretch out sore muscles
That haven't moved
For hours,
And rub my burning eyes.
Then I understand.
I feel it.
It starts in the back
of my clouded mind;
Numb from endless battles;
What can I do to make it go away?
Eat? Eat what? Will it really help?
Sleep? How long?
Will it still be here when I wake up?
I could leave but I have no where to go.
Unsure of what else to do,
I just get up and walk around.
But it doesn't fix it.
It won't go away.
It's still there.
Itching.
Burning.
I fight it, but it's to late.
It's here to stay

Broken

My little broken toy
With your warn edges
And faded colors.
At first glance
you seem fine,
But looking deeper
you're barely held together.
What were you like
When you were new?
Shining?
Alive with wonder?
Someone must have
played with you, a lot,
To be so rough.
You've lost all your joy,
My broken little toy.
I wanna take you
Fix you
See for myself
what you were like
Before you were broken.