I sit back and relax,

Do I need outrageous words?

I'm out swords, maul and axe,

The rhyme, the meter and the tax?

 

This crappy thing is just the clamor of sin as some people call it,
Phrases are seeping and wounding after the pinch of mediocrity,

 

 

Absolutely tired
                                               My mind's just a barren
                        Cliché of the fucking word
                                                                                            The Irony of Ironies

 

I HATE WORDS

I HATE WORDS

 

Over the gap of consciousness Numbness
"Poor bastard, he must feel very lonely" "He made it; he just needs to kiss her" "Don't mess around!" "Mom, please go away..." "Nice lady, just a little bit flat" "I need to fix the sprinkler in the garden" "I need,

 

 

 

my girl"

my girl"

I need to cut this waste or nobody will read it, nobody will review it, nobody will insult you, nobody will,

what is a writer? What are words? And when we die? And when you die? Who will remember computers? Who will know of internet? When we all die
Who will remember you? Your grandson? Nice joke! Maybe he will be the last one to remember you.
I bet,

I'm out, I don't want to continue writing