Saturday, 24 March 2012

strange and erratic conversation with self

If you could just come out and say it,
just drop a shell and feel well,
but you don't ,
clichés have a way to assume truth,
Hemingway assumed truthfully,
for you it is the tolling of the bell:
suppressed, life a bitch and fell,
yeah, you  probably right, it is just hell.
If you did not the make the effort,
I would never tell,
Your soul you made cheap and sold it for a dime,
now you want to console yourself
with this fucking silly rhyme.

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