My originality is only due,
to my inability to copy you.
Sunday, May 27, 2012
you don't care,
even though you were there.
and so like you
the little exhausted children sleep through
all of the noise, and florescent lighting.
all of the sickness, and dog fighting
and all of my complaints, piteous, wasted breath
protests, futile. but complacency, death.
and so I shall put this scribbling to good use,
like scrubbing the sink, and taking out refuse.
Maybe start paying off some of this debt,
but those are the little things I always forget.