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Poetry 2000-..... |
This is one the papers would not print for some "unknown" reason, as you'll now get to see many of those filed away:
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My cigarette was like a
tortoise Who should have been named Rigor Mortis Slowly plodding for lack of breath To the finish line perceived as Death It wasn't until I got angry enough That I could live without another puff Of deceptive desire born of fire Sold by the Empirical Lord of Liars I still smell the residue of destruction The stains and stares of this seduction I was paying Them to kill Me as was designed! How can something so small control my mind? So next time you purchase this kind of relief Know that a pizza or prescription can be just as brief A pleasure and cure for all that stress So you'll be fatter and less depressed! This is the kind of thing I write While Reality TV is on at night Okay, it's not really ALL bad news Cause you always have the power to refuse To be bombarded in all the static By another money-crazed fanatic The only commercial that can heal your soul Is not to be found in your cereal bowl Buy yourself a book or a funny pet rat It cracks me up it's as simple as that Okay, it's time to wrap this up and go and get my coffee cup Society is so insane and we're the prisoners of this game Roll the dice, live in debt, and the running wheel is all you'll get Addicts to addicts--dust to dust We all must decide In What We Trust. Ciera S. Louise c. 03/04/05 |