September 17, 2012
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I amount to nothing,
not the trees,
not the grass.
Nor a window,
not the glass.
I have no talent
Or anything to show.
Not musical comprehension.
Not a recherché in art.
If I were to try,
I wouldn't, couldn't, start.
There is nothing that I am,
or ever will be.
an abyss.
Or at least nothing that I can see.
To be an empty shell,
to live in this... Hell,
can bring me back to earth,
I'm a simple worker;
from birth.
I cannot wander,
I cannot stray,
Because forever my mind will be grey.
I wont be missed,
not here,
nor there.
So do what you want;
Hit me, insult me, stare.
But when you fail,
an empty bucket,
a rusted through pale:
rusted in to dust.
I will not pick you up,
as you crumble into dust.

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