Royal Writing Contest

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The Toy

It must be the feeling of it that traps me

And gets me to return to it over and again

The sheer weight of it engulfing me every time

Inescapable in its allure, at least to someone like me

It is the circle of life. It goes on and on

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There are no breaks to that feeling, it seems

Just enough of a pause to breathe and rise again

And then I take the dive, heart first once more

I do it because it is the only way I know

How to be.  Be me.

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So, the ritual stands through my living days

The meet, the talk, the smile, the funny jokes

All that food for thought and its magnetic affect

Giant leaps of the heart, unguarded and unsure

I blast through.  A rocket seeking the sun

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The blast is like a bomb, and to a bomb it reverts

Ticking away to its inevitable end of another explosion

And the unspeakable pain that comes over and over

The proof of insanity so evident as I repeat the pattern

Does it always happen?  Yes, it does.

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For someone in control, this is out of control

I know where the path leads, yet I still choose to take it

I am the shiny new toy soon to be tossed aside

Therein lies the crux of it all.  The reason for all the pain

My heart loves getting trampled.  It really does.

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