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"lowfat" poems
I have nothing to say. Do I have nothing to say? An empty 1% Lowfat milk carton on the floor says otherwise, and a woman screaming to be understood; for her self proclaimed misery to be reconciled by any other but herself, says otherwise to that otherwise. I am not sure which side I should take. Regardless, the heartless engine upon my ear is ready to evolve; to explode with purpose beyond that of its original design. "I am not ready to die." I say. But what knows all knows we are always ready. Ready to die, to brace the screaming self righteous; the story writers who readily cast you as the enemy because the idea of fighting with their selves scares them shitless.
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Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 8:51 AM UTC
0501
1% lowfat milk
I have nothing to say. Do I have nothing to say? An empty 1% Lowfat milk carton on the floor says otherwise, and a woman screaming to be understood; for her self proclaimed misery to be reconciled by any other but herself, says otherwise to that otherwise. I am not sure which side I should take. Regardless, the heartless engine upon my ear is ready to evolve; to explode with purpose beyond that of its original design. "I am not ready to die." I say. But what knows all knows we are always ready. Ready to die, to brace the screaming self righteous; the story writers who readily cast you as the enemy because the idea of fighting with their selves scares them shitless.
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