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Brody Thompson Jan 2013
They crush your dreams
To better themselves.
Given the credit
Of Santas elves.
They bar the windows,
And they lock all the doors.
They call the men deliquents,
And they label women ******.
Into this world we're thrown
In a direction without our choice.
Whats the point of speaking
When you havent got a voice.
They sit you row by row,
And they all pretend to care.
But as soon as they know your secret
All they can do is stare.
Art is for the artistans,
And the music is for the gifted.
Dont try, you'll never do it,
Anything but keep you lifted.
Before Im in the coffin
And they hammer the last nail.
I'll get out with good behavior,
And then I'll go back to jail.
..coherent and available,

it has bounds and beauty and florance mist.


it has deliquents attempting their selves at a jests balcony and dance

how this should be so,

how  I wish it were, as stoic as this fountain

can I blame my own? will I hurt tomorrow?
take me with you on your balcony and learn fever scenic chirping

and I insist, that this one will evolve

— The End —