The building blocks of my life.
Lay down the foundation and hand me the bricks.
One by one I set them down.
No need for any mindful tricks.
Toss the bricks up and down,
Maybe across the world and back around.
Leaving it as is, whipped and curved like a cane.
Don't give up building even though the pain acts as acid rain.
Washing me out and draining me away.
But wait, my bricks have already made it halfway.
The dirt that lies beneath me conveys the filth to my body.
Maybe perhaps I should give them (the bricks) names.
How about a girl, Claudie.
Maybe even a boy, Bobby.
My bricks shape the stories into informality.
I have not set or prepared any blueprints so my bricks stumble down with fatality.
Too bad i have set no stairs.
I should have been prepared to face the brutality.
I'm not experienced as a hard-hitter.
Will my building seek success or prosper failure?