Long nights.
Fright nights.
Long nights better known as fright nights.
How the hell did this catastrophe ignite?
"Have you done this?" "No."
"Did you finish that?" "No."
"Are you do--?" "No."
No, no, no, no.
A step above the rest, but still below the very best.
Feeling cold, albeit you're wearing a vest.
My days are sprinkled with tiredness
Glazed over with laziness
with heavy doses of productiveness.
A dusting of blah powder, has been generously sprinkled.
We do so much, yet have done so little
Living as a paradox,
we are confined to the limits of a certain box.
2 comments:
I love your poem :)
and Margaret Atwood is amazing! have you read Alias Grace? (one of my favorite books of all time...)
@anonymous:
Indeed, Margaret Atwood is supreme!
No I have yet to read Alias Grace...will proceed to do so!
Ah, thanks for complimenting my crapola poem. :D
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