Crucially Crumbling

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
taken from my book, "If Zero Isn't A Number, Then 'Who Am I?'"

Submitted: December 25, 2011

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Submitted: December 25, 2011



Crucially Crumbling


The slate is filthy

It needs to be clean

How can I love you?

What do you need?

I see the writing on the wall

What does it mean?

Are the writers gonna kill me?

I head not

Out of this place

Thee hours of time

Congratulates me to the pace

Of rhythm

With no sound


Is all around

Yank my heart out

You do

"Pull me thru this rubbish, Jesus, please"

On all the times I land in the trash

I beg to be a man

But can't

Sliding off now

All the while, missing out on life

No pointlessness can mean less

In thee eyes of death

I laugh at my own dismay

Drenched in whatever happens

When the time runs out on me

I'll be overlooked

Again and again by every chick

Who will repeatedly refuse to give me

My long overdue next release

My mind banged out of my head

Will be the fault of lack

Of any chick to be mine

So briefly, I fall down laughing

My dying is an funny as any one

Can imagine

Thee applause is much louder though

Indeed, yes, I can hear, can't I?

These chicks are counting on me

To remain their enemy

And as pissed off as it makes me

That can't be changed


12-25-'11 #1

D. L. Cannon

© Copyright 2018 DLCannon. All rights reserved.

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