With friends...

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: May 13, 2017

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Submitted: May 13, 2017

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We chart, we love , we do good, for the sake of clarity, argument or charity

All of it is never the essence.

Then I asked? a question, a question important. What is life?

One answered and said, “ life is how you make it”

Sounds true, but I wonder if that is truth.

I don’t do poems because I’m pathetic at it.

I don’t wish to sound wise because I’m foolish.

I don’t compete for mastery because slavery is the opposite of it.

No hard feelings simply writing my mind, as another would say, “ I speak my mind.”

I wrote about life in general but my poem was deleted. Precious gems were lost!

I knew not a thing. All I knew was how bad suffering was.

Then I turned to the agnostic, I was told not to believe without evidence.

I walked the streets, I watched the fictional world, I lived life in a way different and everything was done in a way admirable.

We competed , we struggled for mastery, even then it was vanity.

Maybe life was meant to be this way, it was meant to sound awkward like a broken cord of reckless guitarist.

Then my best friend said it doesn’t sound good. With a blared vision, an obliterated mind and a loose voice, I consented.

I never knew what to write because my condition was real.

My life was what I lived.

Does it matter? I asked.

I guess it doesn’t.

Everybody is in their own world. Nobody cares for another. So this was what I knew to be life.

Geniuses are my friends, so they think…maybe they’ll realise that.

Knowing that stupidity? is a great attribute too.

Now I end it, in an awkward manner.

Then my best friend betrayed me with alcohol.

He made fun of it when I was serious.

Then they laughed at me.

He no longer was my friend.

For he let me look like a fool.

Fuck friendship!

It’s never real. I must have been stupid.

Stupidity? is an endowment too.

My friend betrayed me with alcohol.


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