Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nov 2020
I am useless.
A pathetic ******,
that talks a lot
of poetic *******,
but seldom ever
lives up to it.

I’ve been crawling
weird drawings
on my dark cave mind,
keeping primitive
poorly defined
so, I can change
their meaning
I like.

I am tired,
too weary
for this dreary
counting down
with the
Clockwork Sphynx
who thinks
we all stink,
so he stopped asking riddles,
and started riffing
while sniffing
sandy breezes
till he sneezes
and breathes out
more doubt.

This is pointless,
I am just dust,
not even worth enough
to get me up
when I’d rather just
lay down and sleep. οƒ cont.

What is even the point
of me?
Written by
Graff1980  40/M/Litchfield Illinois
(40/M/Litchfield Illinois)   
     Gaia and Graff1980
Please log in to view and add comments on poems