Poezja

Here the supposed I am again,
Lines in between ledges, falling symbols arrangin’ into comprehension,
Logical plain of thought meetin’ cathartic end in ink drop.
Wisdom, a lyrical sting t’ the mind as it bounces away,
Always wantin’ more,
More…
    The mind fest of knowledge
     Fat-heavy flesh,
     Seriated canine teeth,
     Take drunken, percussive stabs,
     'Tis never satisfied.
Oh what grace does introspection grant?
All actions can be diffused by their inherent silliness.
I exist… I suppose,
Therefore I’ll pound these damn keys till they work up,
A satiable monologue.
                Birth an’ death carry documents of proof,
                Why not life?