In My Pocket

I keep a turtle in my pocket,

It clinks against a key.

Both are deadly weapons,

But only when used on me.

They took away the darkness,

Like little beams of light.

But their shine is gone,

Left in everlasting flight.

Maybe I’m just crazy,

But when I feel them there,

They remind me of love,

And fill me with despair.

I’m an empty husk,

A vessel of blinding pain.

But with my little objects,

Somehow I’m still sane.

I keep a turtle in my pocket,

It clinks against a key.

Both of them evoke,

A painful memory.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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