Thursday 6 October 2011




I opened it,
cut it,
drew it,
then threw it.

You gave it,
sketched it,
handed it,
then broke it.

We exchanged it,
loved it,
cherished it,
stabbed it,
then discarded it.

Now..."it" wonders,
wanders,
and clobbers
its way out of existence.

Poor state of freedom,
love,
idealism,
realism,
and painful dualism.

Now go kill yourself "it",
for you no longer are needed,
wanted,
nor requested.

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