it's like I never really see what's coming;
thinkin' it's the time
when it's just another dead fart
- too busy to even smell the angst in her eyes
- too unkind to notice the weeping sky
broken clouds
waiting...
the cumulating nimbus suffocating
the idea of sunshine,
excepting of course,
when I'm being paid to shine the personality
left to me by a troubled god
I know we are meant to be where we are,
but fuck!
what has happened to the dream?
where the fuck?
why the fuck?
why not?
A contest entry
- The Terms in Which I Think of Reality by pineapple-eyes.
1750 points, ended September 26, 4 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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Brilliant - always good with you - I am not that sure about the second verse - but that is just personal preference. I liked this - I like your style - it's unique without being too much.
Liked the message (s) coming out of this one.
James
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you devil you
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a beautiful rant with the word fart and multiple fucks.
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