The art of unlocking one’s most restrained and repressed emotions before manipulating them for aesthetic purposes in a feeble, half-ass attempt, to get into some college freshman’s panties.
Poetry is such bullshit,
Nothing truly profound could ever be put on paper.
Self-awareness? Who needs it!
All I ever do is end up crying anyway.
It's like the dehydration of an emotional masochist;
Invisible pain, evaporating joy.
Someone oughta build a dam on my stream of consciousness,
But where then would all the fish go to spawn?
Why does Jesus ask for so much faith?
Where is Allah’s justice?
Yahweh hasn’t written a book in two millennia.
There’s too much order in the chaos.
My eyesight is failing; I fear I may soon go blind.
Not that there’s much worth seeing anyway.