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Youths eyes oversee truth Captained by a world of hatred Too young yet too old A thin line of reality “To me, the greatest pleasure of writing is not what it's about, but the inner music that words make.” Truman Capote

Friday, November 20, 2009

I'm A Poet, Suck It!

I’ll feel it when you do
The pain that boils in my blood
Burning the real emotion black
Turning my mind backwards
Can’t you see me suffer each day
Each day your hand clasps my breath
Take what you think is yours
Leave me with what is left of my broke thoughts
I’ll feel it when you do

Blacks of our hearts
Contentment of the dust of forlorn past
Controlling the subject’s knees.
Books debate the clouds above
Vague looks of understanding other virtues
Vexatious heavens of God

Yup, I'm depressed and artsy...anything else new? No, okay lets move onto more important things...

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