Poetry are words of the fools
It’s an intimate thing,
Like deep cutting a corner of your soul and plastering it
For the whole world to see,
To grasp
To taste
To hold your words
Oh, who am I kidding, what philosopher am I?
not one eye will blink upon my words
Not one heart or soul
What fools poets are
To try and make sense of the meaningless
To pointless try to create some sort of Understanding
Of your unoriginal thoughts just to keep your Attention
Am I boring you?
Faked sophistication, sick of the society
And the
Company we choose to keep
Out of pure politeness
Give it to me and I’ll stop talking
