It’s easy to write bullshit
But what’s the point?
Why write anything at all
If it isn’t going to be meaningful
This is what I ask myself
Before I begin to compose
What you may call a poem
I’ll let you call it that
Although it’s really just words
Spread out for comfort
Crept out from under my fingernails
Sniffing around for answers, freedom
Like us all
They seek liberation
From something
Constrict, judgement, habitual dependency
We meander from one sneaky trap to another
Fooled by life in succession
Dangling uneasily in self constructed towers
Every day another ledge
Do I have an answers?
Or even some suggestion?
If I wasn’t so busy just hanging on
Maybe I could think of one
But I’m the same as everyone
Who ever was
Destined for greatness
Interrupted by life
RSS Feed
