What is it that one realises while at a face-to-face interaction,
With morbid realities and mundance truths?
Waiting.
Something I've always loathed doing.
Unfortunately, something that
has always been put forth me.
An impromptu realisation:
My brand/style/niche of poetry..
can be classified.
No Verse, apparently.
Not that I intended on it being so.
I write because I can.
Also because, I like how letters construct words which construct meanings.
A rather fascinating process.
I like how my incoherant thoughts
come out and sound.
I realize how poets can be read,
can be analysed,
but deductions about their allusions,
can never be accurate.
My thoughts have no linear progression,
No clear direction.
Pin-pointing an exact reference seems impossible.
Absurdity and fluctuation,
concepts that are troubling me.
Superficial beauty.
Can only the Beautiful be loved.
In that way.
What is it that one deserves?
Can we compromise? Should we?
"Where are you going?"
She will always be my number one.
Always.
No replacements, and no definitions.
Life will continue with utmost normalty.
Not seeking reciprocration.
What will happen to the girl with the lower lip dimples?
Uncertainity.
A vicious, vicious circle.
6 comments:
It is easy to write poems. Take
"You write trash cauze that's the only thing you can."
"You write trash
Because
That's the only thing
You can."
And you have a poem!
I like the animosity in your comment. Says a lot about a woman.
of course, and dare i ask?.. What does it say about a MAN?
Or is that just too inconsequential, carrying as he is the dubious credit of actually being (gasp)a MAN!
of course, and dare i ask?.. What does it say about a MAN?
Or is that just too inconsequential, carrying as he is the dubious credit of actually being (gasp)a MAN!
You sound like a friggin copywriter man!
...Either that you've been smoking some.
What's the reality?
A: Neither :D
No verse, remember.
(Hey, I thought that was funny!)
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