Your Poetry Dot Com - The Potsink

Array ( [sid] => 180905 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => The Potsink [time] => 2015-04-01 18:47:21 [hometext] => The turnaround point (The inspirational story of a former pro basketball player) I love this guy- Chris Heren [bodytext] => This thing had me since freshman year
I went hard on, and harder off the court
With each use, my end drew near
All these new beginnings I had to abort

From Fall River to BC
Then to Fresno and Denver
And even Bolognia Italy
I could not quit, never

It was never about the next level
Just this habit I couldn't kick
I always came unraveled
Every time I got sick

I found it everywhere
In bus and train stations
It's not that I did not care
What had me was temptation

So there I stood at the Potsink
And my family all at home
All I could do was think
That I was not alone

These dishes
They were me, and I was them
And our cleaner, all the sponges
The beginning of the end-amen

There is nothing in this Potsink
But suds and suds of soap
There is nothing in this Potsink
And it is full of hope [comments] => 1 [counter] => 110 [topic] => 66 [informant] => Beyfoxman5 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 0 [associated] => [topicname] => drugabuse ) Your Poetry Dot Com - The Potsink

The Potsink
Date: Wednesday, 1st April 2015 @ 06:47:21 PM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: Beyfoxman5

This thing had me since freshman year
I went hard on, and harder off the court
With each use, my end drew near
All these new beginnings I had to abort

From Fall River to BC
Then to Fresno and Denver
And even Bolognia Italy
I could not quit, never

It was never about the next level
Just this habit I couldn't kick
I always came unraveled
Every time I got sick

I found it everywhere
In bus and train stations
It's not that I did not care
What had me was temptation

So there I stood at the Potsink
And my family all at home
All I could do was think
That I was not alone

These dishes
They were me, and I was them
And our cleaner, all the sponges
The beginning of the end-amen

There is nothing in this Potsink
But suds and suds of soap
There is nothing in this Potsink
And it is full of hope

This poem is Copyright ÂŠ Beyfoxman5

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