And then the squares disgusted me.
Something so wrong, turning the stomach.
Mostly white coverings
working to prevent torment
but not doing well.
bending and flexing,
sending me into
the deeper parts of my guts.
American Culture, Death, Depression, Failure, Fear, Isolation, Poems, Poetry, Resistance
This entry was posted on March 5, 2012, 10:54 pm and is filed under Poems. You can follow any responses to this entry through RSS 2.0.
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#1 by Hudson Howl on March 6, 2012 - 9:33 pm
Strangely enough, this fits into something I have been thinking about lately. I won’t mention what that happens to be, but this definitely helped me understand the quandary I was having. Thanks. Take comfort you helped someone even if your unaware what it is you did.
#2 by Carl on March 6, 2012 - 10:19 pm
That is fascinating to me, and your comment means a great deal. Sometimes the abstract is too far gone to be any good, but you are right that if it sings to one person, it is a worthy endeavor. Thank you.
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