CalledgeA Poem by Jerusalem Cricket'Most of my teachers didn't teach me s**t.'
sometimes I think
there might not be a tomorrow so my time can't be wasted in any established institution. whoops, there I go, wasting. whoops, there goes the future. band together,weird brothers. a half assed attempt from one of us equates to a hundred ten percent from one of the others. but what difference would it make? there's like, a hundred million of them & only one of me. we're already snuffed out by the numbers. so we throw ourselves off track; it's some what hypocritical - but hey - at least we're following our hearts or whatever organ we think is the most vital. simple existence is the biggest shame. for the love of god. you'll rot if you stay for the spindle, drilling yer spiel & teething on the tiers, stagnating in the famous cesspools of shalott. settle in, ferment to liquidity. Imma just watch yall waiting for the day your stocking feet curl up & die beneath the mortgage, leaving the zirconia slippers of a dream seeing red. be clean be neat be nice be right be alive & smile but not too much. that's the tell to tell em something's up, the specimen are not disrupted or adapting to challenge of being pissed with these conditions. they appear to be happy. too happy. something's missing. © 2015 Jerusalem CricketAuthor's Note
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2 Reviews Added on May 14, 2015 Last Updated on May 14, 2015 AuthorJerusalem CricketCAAboutStuck in the tumbleweed trap on the outskirts of the World's Largest Meth-lab; the Art Gods keep me safe and sane. more..Writing
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