Untitled

There’s a nail sticking out of the wall
In the room I stay in,
Pointy-end out.
It has no business being there.
It has no possible purpose; it can’t be used for anything.

I spend every night without exception staring at that nail,
Mostly for a minute or two,
But sometimes for up to a half-hour,
And when I stare at it long enough
It begs me to give it a purpose.

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2 responses to “Untitled

  1. I really like this one, Ken. Not affected or over-the-top, but your message is clear. I really like the part where you say that you spend your nights staring at the nail. Evokes such an emotion and image.

    • Thanks, Ash!

      I know I don’t leave comments like I should, so it means a lot that you have. I’ll be more considerate in the future; I plan to be more active with my writing again, and this site. Because It’s slowly killing me, not writing for myself.

      So I’ll be on more, and not just reading your poetry in my inbox. And I’ll comment with the very little I know about poetry.

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