Tuesday, 16 December 2014

This is how it is.

It is such a drag,
The monotonous mirroring masquerading as most people mostly,
The puddle like depths they struggle to stoop to,
The freaklike feelings I get when I realise,
That this is how it is.

It is such a drag,
The womb I lost for this,
My pointless pondering that proudly presents itself to deaf ears,
Ears that are closed, never to be open,
The slow learning,
That this is how it is.

It is such a drag,
That the sun is gone in winter,
The mild mannered moon masked by clouds,
The dirty salt smultch splattering my car,
The refusal to remember at this time of year,
That this is how it is.

It is such a drag,
That we are destined to scream out blindly,
Our relentless ranting, raging in denile of it's actual regurgitation,
And our dull lives condemnded to exile,
By our dim witted others and the death sentence,
That this is how it is.

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