Was it ever any fun?

Fri, 10/07/2016 - 11:46 -- luxurie

I just can't seem to think.

Sometimes, it feels like it's a sink or a sink.

The order I put my words seems in accordance to discord;

I want to be a lord

To create fictional fate

To desecrate reality

Even if for just a day

 

They say, "wait your turn,"

But the passion, it burns

Not a spark from the dark

It's a cascade of flame

I want to make a name

In this daydreamer's game

 

I spent my life writing; not winning

And every single time I bin it

Because it's the motivation business

And I'm just an intern in it

Making coffee for emotions

If I had words I would've wrote them

But the deal is done

Countdown's on one

And after it all

I just feel numb

 

I can try to cry,

But the crime's been done

My body's won

And there's nowhere to run

 

Was it ever any fun?

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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