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I'm still stuck in day-drunk unemployment. A millennial with eyes to a screen, adopting a science in a bedroom whisper for Gaza. Now a writer of pretty words and clumsy verse, there's no place for happiness in forcing poetry. There are ribbons and bows around the fenced-off trees, there are notebooks of unfinished thought. I'm searching the skies for a scrap of movement, for some coded message to **** the engine of war. There's a wedding in the morning, and there is somebody who still believes in love. Rainbow confetti will kick in the sky, a dandelion is born in the skull of old Palestine. I'm still stuck in this new-age desperation, a constant plea for peaceful completion. I'm changing address for a clean way of living, in your sweet floral dress, let this be the beginning.
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Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 9:06 PM UTC
Don't Be A Writer
I'm still stuck in day-drunk unemployment. A millennial with eyes to a screen, adopting a science in a bedroom whisper for Gaza. Now a writer of pretty words and clumsy verse, there's no place for happiness in forcing poetry. There are ribbons and bows around the fenced-off trees, there are notebooks of unfinished thought. I'm searching the skies for a scrap of movement, for some coded message to **** the engine of war. There's a wedding in the morning, and there is somebody who still believes in love. Rainbow confetti will kick in the sky, a dandelion is born in the skull of old Palestine. I'm still stuck in this new-age desperation, a constant plea for peaceful completion. I'm changing address for a clean way of living, in your sweet floral dress, let this be the beginning.
Edward-Coles
Written by
26/M/English
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 9:06 PM UTC
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