Play DeadA Poem by Austin Harvill
It's like...
Being a surburan-bourbon drinking white kid is less fantantastic than the elastic band around your undies ...Worthless I have never seen the suffering or the covering up of some atrocity that would follow me and hollow out my soul. Never See, day and day bullets blaze down alleyways and people lay for the last time. No rhyme could justify this multiplying problem. No one can solve them. None can resolve them or cause them to bend and break. But here I am, writing anyways. Trying to talk s**t that hits others' brothers and sisters while this mister blisters his fingers with what lingers in his mind's eye. Why? I could sit and wait to scrape another intorspective and disected point of view, but its skewed and ruled out by the shouts of oppressed ghosts. How can I help you? I speak of this madness that matches the sadness of the masses that fastens their life vests and tests the waters of the squaters and the homeless who roam this land of demand that hands out none, yet guns are common and bombin' each other's mothers and fathers are farther from fiction then my diction might imply. I ASK AGAIN... why? I guess I will wait. Stake out a living and giving out what they want to staunch the river of blood that floods the field of sealed damnation. Can patience be enough to snuff out the fire of dire human pain? Plain as day, I spray words to curve your eyes to the guise of humane treatment of the insane human psyche. Powerless For now I imitate the dead-space of real life. I view strife and knives through the backs of attackers and defenders and the benders of reality. Now I see I will never be close to the closed doors that scores against the tents at the gates of heaven. I can only Play Dead © 2010 Austin Harvill |
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2 Reviews Added on April 11, 2010 Last Updated on April 11, 2010 AuthorAustin HarvillFt. Leavenworth, KSAboutI am just here to do some writing! Was invited by a friend and so I hope everyone enjoys what I have. more..Writing
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