Painted Red

Painted Red

I am a miniscule
Tiny little thing
I try to tell myself I’m a
One of a kind thing

But when I look at a map
And see all those dotted towns
I can’t contain the lack of
Context that keeps me down

I am a miniscule
Tiny little thing
I wish there were more time
To tell the other things

I see the cities as I
Pass them on the drive
I see the outer walls
But never see inside

I look inside myself
And find another town
I look around those places
To see those hollow faces

I am a minuscule
Tiny little thing
I think of all those people
I see out in the street

I see their faces and
Recognize their demons
I see their expressions and
Recognize the feeling

I hear the things they say
And their voices hit the rain
I see them look at me
And I pretend I’m not a thing

I am a miniscule
Tiny little thing
Person in a city

I am a healed up story
In a book of inventory
A space between the pages
Of tales far more gory

I am a miniscule
Tiny little thing
In a book of
A city’s history

I am a
Grain of sand
And a scuff
On mighty concrete

I am an
Little thing

I get stepped on
And scraped across hard rock
I yell out loud just to
Make sure I can speak

I am a cog
In a massive gear machine
I am a piece that can be
Easily replaced

Published by Jake Thomas Shaw

Concerned with memory, currency, and destiny, I strive to capture each one as they happen. Join me and consume reality! Radio Reality. City!

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