Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Pointed in its' Pointlessness

Friend you're sensitive where soft,
feel most when weak,
your tender outsides know exter.

Bitch you drive for a dick,
drink to blow,
and years invested in a former man are ruins in the city Ye.

Fellow you didn't make your "son",
can't turn a woman who doesn't love you into a wife,
and the state will say what's your's is her's.

Stranger you love to think of the things you'll do,
great deeds you'll get around to,
while idly entertaining yourself.

Acquaintance you passed by so quick,
you didn't even get a name,
I couldn't've your birth to blame.

Facts breed with perception to make interpretations,
Thee is a mystery,
and sensing is answering.

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