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"A great poet, a really great poet, is the most unpoetical of all creatures." The Picture of Dorian Gray

Monday, January 3, 2011

day one hundred sixty-nine: side effects of life.

circles into oblivion
the monotonous life
keeps barreling down
through the oceans of silly baubles
that really are meaningless
sentimental, but meaningless
there's loss of appetite
lost of interests
watch out, there went moodiness
and now there's a sudden change in sleep
too much, too much, too much,
and deeper we delve into the infinity of dark
because everyone else just jumped off the sane bridge
why not just join them?
we'll all die anyway.

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