The Wrecking Ball
once enclosed by falling lids,
corneas from slate to cerulean
spin around violently to latch on
to any remains of lanky lamentation.
so far ago yet
nowhere differently,
they still swim ashamed
wishing to stare through skull.
in a minor key
tone deaf geeks screamed
to her
not good enough, no
crumbling pedestals leave some
bury others, but sadly
revive survivors
who run to kiss the wrecking ball.
