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

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

day two hundred eight: flies in ointment.

words
little words
little notes
in big songs
little voices
inside the mind
singing dread
and negativity
sweep your
sweet hurt over me
i give
i gave
i try
i trade
these things i have
(by no means am i perfect)
i give them to people
and they take
take take
take take
will someone
give something to me?
or even let me take
take take?

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