Thursday, May 19, 2016

Every poem a nail

Slamming iron with my bare fists
I've read longform, I've digested lists
I've eaten novels raw, snorted short stories
But I keep coming back to this travesty I call Poetry

There are days when I disgust myself
Then the days when I'm so in love with the mirror
Days when I'm ready to make the world suck my dick
Days when the thought of breathing makes me sick

It doesn't make sense cuz it doesn't need to
There is no poetry, only me and you
We're trapped in the matrix of life's slow burn
We could burn to ashes but we'd never learn

I'm using every poem as a nail in the coffin
Of my every day existence and my stupid complaints
That don't mean shit in the long run
So why should I stop, when complaining is so much fun.

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