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A Poem by HPVM


Submitted:Oct 23, 2012    Reads: 12    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


A perfect world is a perfect plan, its
shamed by almost nothing but man.
Are you proud of your fuckups, are you
proud that your stuck up the steriotype
flight flying around your space.
Not aware truely, is this really your
fault.......partly with your molded gunge
you call blood and the spiked forever you
call life.
In my world, no problems.......apart from
poisoned people picking up habbit.
On my own, kindness soaks from my skin
and fills my home with warmth.
But only when im on my own.
A laptop, producing, musics my release,
flowing, technical and abstract sounds
show me colours only i can see.
A paint brush made from sound, draws
lines and circles, is this my mind i
created, has it always been there?
Never scared of pain nor death, ive been
through it all before.......





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