The Misfit

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A stange poem of a person questioning their sanity

Submitted: March 06, 2012

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Submitted: March 06, 2012

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I have a strange habit; a talent really

to find a fast way to mischief.

Needless to say,  I'm right on my way

to perfecting the ways of the misfit.

You see, my dear friend, I stand on the end

I feel sane in insanities' lines.

But if i lose my grip, i could purposely slip

and fall to were madness resides.

Now there's nothing too wrong with being so mad

No, i don't see one thing at all.

Maybe something i see, maybe one little thing

I'd have strings through my hands like a doll.

I've heard of this risk to become a puppet

to make insanities' dreams come true.

It could make you corrupt or make you throw up

or am I just lying to you?

It's probably for best if you question the rest

this could all be a work of fiction.

So now I'll refrain; I am perfectly sane

At least until my conviction.

 

 

 

 

 


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