Monday, January 4, 2010

Slip.

Seasoned are we
Ripened for the weakened
That haunt our meticulous walks
Wandering in hope that we'll find that inspiration
That oh so daunting aspiration
That'll pave our canvas with motivation
Though we are killed by the meek
Keeping our cupcakes in the pantry
Our hearts in the cupboard
I love the feeling of the knife blade
Inserted in my back
Better yet, in my sternum
Where I can see the whole act
This'll repeat
I'll refill my prescription
Not just a drug
But the whole correlation
Quite the opposite of motivation
The very reason we all give up
The sweet tangy venom
We let our minds slurp up
Tip of the old glass
With a shot of wait
My head will stop bleeding
This wall will erode
The continual beating
That allows us to justify
Our woes
So Salud! To the bounds in which
We die
The justifications of how it is okay
Because at one point,
we tried?

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