Smaller squares tell me who I am.
Organizational torture within chaos,
innumerable shades of brown and gray,
fighting through the human blast furnace
with intricate snakes of flame
preventing peace or solace in okay.
And there are so many fucking cheaters.
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American Culture, Day Job, Death, Depression, Failure, Fear, Isolation, Poems, Poetry, Resistance
This entry was posted on March 5, 2012, 10:49 pm and is filed under Poems. You can follow any responses to this entry through RSS 2.0.
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#1 by heikewrites on March 6, 2012 - 2:14 am
snakes of flame – beautiful!
#2 by Carl on March 6, 2012 - 6:46 pm
Thank you for commenting!
#3 by Carl D'Agostino on March 6, 2012 - 5:42 pm
even the cheater’s avoidance of the snakes of flame is temporary
#4 by Carl on March 6, 2012 - 6:47 pm
Yes, and I am not the referee.