What I Do

April 3, 2011
I feel so much.

I need to write.

But no words come to mind.

I feel so little.

I still need to write.

Nothing original, seems all words have been written.

Overflow of words, of faces.

I do my best to remember.

Then im empty, nothing left.

Oh, a silly little thing called poetry.

Just to please ourselves, they would say.

But theres so much more they cant see.

What to do, what to do.

I cant keep a hold on myself.
Madness, chaos, poetry is what i do.

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