Grey, murky thick sky surrounds my being
In this frosted air I drive
Searing through the haze, trying to awaken
My listless bloodshot eyes.
The dark it still creeps ahead
As the sun begins it's climb behind
I feel like I'm slowly heading
For that field of dying light
I cannot hault the flow of time
And instead I reveal in it's passing
Living through the ebbs and flows
Grasping fourth for hidden meaning
Finding poetry in every word I speak
And every word I mean with such heavy weight.
My words follow no form
Just a series of excrements
That are meant to show my brilliance
But only show the lack.
This is my poetry.
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