lost my heart in the circular realm
when I think of anything it sounds
like a drugged up
contradiction, that never was and never will
it's like I'm Dead.
In this vacuum presumed
Dead.
who I know , who I knew
the people that helped me grow,
are never recycled as new.
I keep writing these lines of my poetry mind
that to everyone else looks twisted and lied
like my mind is corrupt and they knew all along exactly
what's up.
What I know for sure is that nothing is for sure
But someone's said that before,
so I guess I'm a fake
unless I discover something new,
something blue, something old,
nothing at all,
it's absurd
it's fool's gold
it's an unreality
from the line of a sonnet
written on a vanishing moon.
it's like I'm Dead.
My dead ancestors have taken up all
the juice for my parade.
I'm left a charade; a skit;
half-hearted & unfit
it's like I'm Dead.
My obsessions say it all
You know the reasons
the buzzes
and the contrite liaisons.
You knew
all along
the undead song sang
to the soldiers
whose lives are ****** war zones
You know my cellophane
you've seen it televised live from every side,
and on every dead celebrity whose tragedy was pied.
ramble scramble