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Every
time I look in your face,
Your eyes are dead,
You don’t care for me,
And so I leave,
While you turn back,
And flip on the TV.
I walk to the deli,
And the man looks down on me,
He treats me with a frown,
He looks away,
It’s
as if I’m last night’s whore…
I guess I’ll forget to pay.
The world seems to be turning,
And I want to go with the flow,
But it turns the opposite way,
And so I walk in circles,
Smiling like it’s summer,
Yet I’m being swallowed by snow.
I come home and you’re still here,
Staring at the screen,
Ignoring me.
I say there’s dinner,
Then you’ll care,
But instead I see your hand,
As if I’ll serve you.
It’s like every time I try,
I’m wrong.
Since the last day I cried…
I’m just a ghost now.
You’re a cripple,
Or so you act like it,
And I’m the mother’s breast,
It’s only there for when you want to…
Just flip back on the TV.
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Gee
kids, this was fun. I had a few moments where my
mind was absolutely dry of what exactly I was
going to write about. Regardless, after all the
troubles, I ended up with the poem above. You
can conclude however you wish as to what it
means, because you're probably right now matter
what you say as long as it is technically
correct. So... best wishes on your journey to
defining my poetic intentions. |
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