artificial   Leave a comment

Fuck this city
Fuck the street with the dark crematorium parking lot where I bled
good decisions.
Fuck having a finger on this impoverished pulse
Put your finger on the delicate dip in my wrist and feel my pulse.
I’m real.
This is artificial, this is the hype of round holes and square pegs
Fuck making something out of nothing but adrenaline
and time away from playing happy family.
Fuck leaving this in the dust,
bewildered and
awestruck,
jealous and
superstitious; waiting.
A beat doesn’t wait, a pulse will throb
a lifetime
unnoticed
until its absence resonates.
Its the silence that speaks to me. Its always the silence
Stop giving me your soundtrack,
I’ve got my own playlist
Fuck pretending, who would bother pretend, and why, when this pain is so exquisite?

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Posted April 22, 2011 by ALittleShow in Uncategorized

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