Saturday, September 8, 2012

got the look



It isn't me,
Stung by a bee searching for purpose.
World packed with self grubbing souls, licking scabs no different.
Hiding under sheep's wool, preying on emotions, never satisfied with love.
Missing from reality, there is no touch.
Too many toys throw them aside.
Cutting plastic, dolls with dreams
Pop off their heads, feed on admiration of the blind.
Boxed in fool, I can't eat your trash.

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