this fruitless journey
squeezing water out
of the rocks again
this fruitless journey
to the bottom of
my mind
i will die penniless
and insane
some little cabin
a thousand miles
away from anything
some think it is tragic
i like to think of it
as fitting
being popular was
never my thing
being prolific was
just insanity taking
the wheel and bleeding
on the page
it gets a little messy
but anything worth
your time is supposed
to be that way
…love this poem…
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thank you
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You have to be full of yourself to be a poet I guess.
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