.
The sun goes down
and here I am
living the same old life
that I've lived - thousands of times again.
Sitting alone, in a small wooden box
playing a half strung guitar
for my dearest friend ... the ceiling.
With a poem, I am .... in love, with communication
essentially, as always,
I write for no one, because initially ---- I am ... no one
... yet, I continue to search,
for the connections, between something, or someone,
for some reason .......
this story, is already boring.
I feel like sitting in the middle of the street tonight,
while holding a light to my face,
.... so everyone can see who I am,
as the cars fly by,
turning the inside of my head, completely white,
walk with me .... with black sounds,
touch my insides, touch the ground, become cold
fold into me .... like a staple
entering flesh ... I'm completely naked ..
.dead.
.
Copying this work to another webpage without author permission is plagiarism.
Plagiarism is a misdemeanor, usually punishable by fines of $100-$50000 and up to one year in jail.
Comments on Poetry is Dead