Body Theft

k, this a kind of rambling and its bad and I know it. It won't get read much, I know, cause I am not publicising it, and I am not wallowing anyway, and there won't be much likes and faves even if it gets read, it is that bad. So if you happen to glance by , make sure it's not after you've just eaten when it's much easier to vomit.


2. Don't do drugs, you'll go insane if you do, then you won't be able to write...uh what am I saying, the title is Do Drugs and go insane who cares..Just don't forget to comment, pisses me off when I see only views and no comments.

                                                                  I am Ugly and I know it


Why do we work so hard? Why do we have to be that bard? That sings laurels of even theinarticulate king Without a sting of pique Why do we have to lick our own wounds? Why can't we pick our grounds, and win at it the first throw, Why do we have to burst into that surface of sorrow that makes us forget 'bout morrow? Why does it sound like a death throe, whenever I write, why do I wallow so much? Damn, I am my biggest foe, why do I have to clout between myself? Why can't I just row out to the other bank? Why am I so blank? Guess, the muse in me died, of fright, that I would pull him too hard, ole buddy, I am so so sorry, never meant you to flee, does not give me the minisculest glee, to see the seat of my soul deserted,  I keep staring at nothing through and out the night, my heart has grown a hole, I never was on a roll, there's nothing that has gotten stole, it's just my mind has gone stale, my face pale, I feel that foe tapestrying on my back and on my happy sack, my head's gonna crack, give me some whack, teach me the knack to stack words on that paper, I feel like my Pandora's box been dropped down Olympus. I feel pus forming on the green mucus that drops outta my nose, I wanna quit this circus, I don't want no brain surplus, is that a voice I here Shut up Marshal, Imma failure, I fell for the lure,  was none of my business  to pick up that pen, I guess I got henned inside tryin' to get the shit outside, now my head's fried like en egg and it doesn't subside, the pain is there, the gain is nowhere  guess it fled with the muse, why do I have to be in a eternal state of mental abuse, I cannot seduce my grey cells to pick up that pen, Guess shoulda not read those stuff at the Net, Read things that convinced me I was not what I thought, I am not what I think I need to ram outta this rut, this creative glut,  Why do I have to feel so shut, I feel like a mutt trapped inside a shoe box, Rehab myself saying it'll fine someday, but for now my stocks of creativity, my wordly magnanimity, have bade farewell, I feel a swell, a lump in my throat, God! I am crying, Why does it have to be like this? Why won't my pen kiss the paper? Why do I have to be such a grappler? Should I glue my finger to the typer with a stapler? Where is the light I grope, I am now cloaked in the darkness, choked by its starkness, Pan the camera outwards, Yeah, now do you see me, see the blood in my eyes? Do they shine amidst Oblivion,  I am not one in a million, I am one in a gazillion, and I know it, The windows grate open, The sadness is defenestrated, The skin of the perpetrator penetrated, his soul flagellated, there's a glow in my eyes, I know I cannot afford to blow twice, the resurgence is slow, it's a trickle now, a flow, gotta a mow my face got an interview to attend, maybe I'll come back and lend words to the paper, I raise my hand, perk the middle finger at the Tender of my wounds, Slip in my tie, I know I am outta the pig sty, need no help no more, will never welp no more, I zip the zip that guards my crotch, put on my watch and slip my honesty into soles, Go to the interview, tell words that are so fulla holes, come back by the gloom, Enter the house, Call out for my spouse, there she comes, me she stumps, she is pregnant, I get all poignant, forget to pick up the ink holder for four whole days,  forget to fry em the words, put em out of my fray, than I plop my ass after some days, still can't drain myself off thoughts of my son, Why do we have to try so hard? to be that ideal Bard, Man muse's a fraud, I shouldn't have fingered the God, I realize it's too late, I feel like a bum, Perferate a round hole in my head with a gun, My eyes clear of all corruption, by brain ruptures, all 'cause of one tiny misconception and a big finger, Man I am nothing if not a stinker.

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