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Ratty.

Full of holes.

Ripped.

Torn.

Threads loose.

Smelly.

Dirty.

Still used.

The bed is made for dreaming.

Worrying.

Wandering.

Thinking.

Listening.

The mind floats

As the eyes begin to close

And the body rests.

Comfort is key.

Luxury a bonus.

Friendship vital.

Financially free.

Politics forbidden.

The world awaiting.

Just me and my thoughts, emotions calming.

Harmful ones we need to reject.

It is the helpful and balanced ones

that are hard to resume.

So how can I be a better poet

if I forget to write one every day.

Just being able to breathe.

Not knowing who I can choose.

Impulse Control would be handy.

Listening is not an option.

Ready to jump.

Nowhere to land.

You train.

Current methods.

Fresher preferences.

Updated models.

You get home

and the older version

just sits there

while you try to navigate it.

Maybe one day

you will figure it out.

Or just buy the latest copy.

Thin and dangerous.

Sharp but fierce.

Hisses announce the strike.

Dance back before the blood is drawn.

Fragile yet deadly.

It points to the ones who look to help.

Those that hinder push over and over.

Being reasonable means things get done quicker.

Now is that not a good thing to strive for.

Hunt the prey.

Track and watch.

Take it down.

Prepare the meal.

Then we eat.