September 2010
2 posts
A pathetic attempt at poetry.
A crooked smile, tears of both joy and despair.
He played on from his pause, to eager to care.
He get his will from both pleasure and pain.
Tis not black tis not white, not two but the same.
Ineffable; his desire for an unchallenged grin
But to be one sided and real was too great of a sin.
So he cast himself of to a life of double thought.
To live life like a jester, to die and to rot.
...
“I am not myself.
I often find my thoughts, adapting to the situation and the...”