Saturday, 7 January 2012

Superficial feelings

Dead on arrival, stuggling for survival
Besieged by the giants of literature
Shackled by my own vices
Distracted by the internet
Im a pile of garbage
A hapless mass of waste
Stuffed with lifeless potential
Mind open like a sore
I poke it with my finger strokes upon this keyboard
This jagged arrangement of words is too personal
So you pass over me like a cloud
I want to fire laser beams at the sky and carve my name in the atmosphere
But instead I will commence to willfully rotting my latency.

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