I don't know what to do with my life right now
I am an abstract thought fleeting from my mind
And every aspect of me is running away faster and faster each minute
Each second each hour each ******* day
I can feel myself slipping away
When you're a kid
You don't think about this type of ****
You just live
Life is life
C'est la vie
The French have a word for every ******* feeling
I swear it
If only I could speak French maybe
it'd make writing poetry a bit easier
But it will never get easier
Because poetry is life
And with each word you extend yourself
You extend the years to come with this poem
A single poem
A single stansa
A single
Word

And within that word a thought can sprout
But with water and time that thought can become work
And with work and effort you give birth
To a beatiful ******* poem
Filled to the brim with emotion
and strength
and power
and fear
and loss
and hope
and dreams
and pride
and envy
every sin in the **** book
written onto a blank white page
You dissected yourself before a crowd
And you open and pull your guts out to only have them shoved back in
by ungrateful
undeserving
undead
flesh eaters
because thoughts are the flesh of your brain
the meat
and the words are the substance
the minerals of this poem
the good
And they may taste bitter and they may come out hard
but when they sit in the stomach of your reader
and digest
and crumble and decay
and die again
and again
and again
you live
you become the eternal worm
you become the everlasting fruit
you become the demon that your parents and your pastors
and your lovers and your friends and your family
and your pets and your dreams and your ******* thoughts warned you about
because knowledge is power
and power corrupts
and thinking is evil
so be a villain in the most beautiful sense of the phrase
and live and please
please live
longer than this poem ever will