Wanted to write a sonnet about hope and peace
and shit like that, but honestly feel kinda tired,
wore down from endless outrage device, filing cease
and desist orders against wireless world inspired
by Orwellian worst case scenarios (rowww
roww like a dungeon dragon). Drank coffee at work
(like usual) because that's how we've been trained how
to do daily routine mundane blah blah... hopes lurk
somewhere still buried beneath the past due worries,
I guess in my heart maybe? Not sure, don't feel much
there except stress fist clenching tightly; age hurries
along it's too short course kinda fast, I can't clutch
after metaphorical sands of time, so fuck...
staring at the clock, pretending not to be stuck.
1 comment:
I pretend too.
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