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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: The Usual Living, no Thanksgiving dots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: AbsolutelyLost
    ASL Info:    27/M/India
    Elite Ratio:    4.33 - 54/41/33
    Words: 163
    Class/Type: Poetry/Satire
    Total Views: 627
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 1166



    Description:
       


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    dotsThe Usual Living, no Thanksgiving dots
    -------------------------------------------


    A blank window opens the day,
    Shutting the buzz again in dismay.
    The cancer stick lightens the heart,
    Making me realize moments lost.

    The fight for the attire,
    With a drive of no desire.
    The mailbox of dump,
    Tea just to hit another bump.

    At the stroke of mid-day,
    Perturbs the recollection of another day.
    The faces all down retrospecting,
    An unfulfilled wish of going.

    The meal hurriedly had,
    The fag just wrapped.
    Trying to read hazily,
    In the hope to flourish readily.

    It's already four thirty,
    Where is my of tea?
    Sipping through the gossip,
    Realizing siesta slip.

    The only charm, the chirpy lilies,
    Pack bags having fries.
    Damn the work unfinished,
    The party yet famished.

    Time to pack and roll,
    Drag away my tortured soul.
    Fly away from the ghoul,
    Was this really my goal?

    With the tea and the darling,
    Surfing till the clock's ring.
    Yet another day gone,
    And its already dawn.




    Submitted on 2009-10-21 12:25:43     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      cigarettes for sustenance...

    smoky haze that is my mind ...emotions sucking the life out of me...

    i go throught the motions of the day, not knowing where i am or what i am doing..i lose track of me...

    things i need to do i already did..things i already did i feel the need to do..

    one day blurs into another..and i feel no desire to move...life holds no interest..

    so i'll just take another drag on my drag life...

    uncomfortable, awkward rhythm to this...but that was a good thing to me...
    it made me feel the despondency more...the lack of caring...as if..yeah, i'm writing about this feeling and i don't even care how the words come out....or how they look or read.

    jacob
    | Posted on 2011-04-13 00:00:00 | by jacoberin | [ Reply to This ]


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