London Bridge is Falling Down by Irrelephantlovesyou, literature
Literature
London Bridge is Falling Down
It is one o'clock
And I have been playing Jenga
For two years, eight months
Twenty-three days, four hours
And approximately fifteen
Minutes.
I slide books from their slots
One by one, the teetering tower
Becoming more teetering
And less towering.
All the poetry books are gone,
Stored underneath my bed,
Because I love reading them at
Three thirty in the afternoon,
When everyone is doing something
But me.
One day the wall of books
Will topple to the ground,
Onto my ashen carpet, for yesterday
The apocalypse had taken place
While I was washing dishes.
I guess I missed it, but luckily
The book tower is still standing,
And i
The thing is, I lose everything.
I've misplaced all the
things I own at least twice.
No thing is safe
from disappearing,
it all slips between the threads
rough stitched fabric
of my universe.
A few weeks ago,
a pair of rose colored
rabbit-shaped earrings
went missing.
They must have scampered away
from my bedside table
as I slept.
and yesterday too my class ring,
with dragon insignia
carved into its metal side,
lost so many times
I've just stopped looking.
It always turns up again
like a hungry cat.
Long ago I bid farewell
to a book of poetry
by Billy Collins,
each page dressed
in a suit of marginalia
