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maybe i should make something whimsical, nonsensicalthough i find myself stuck on eventual, perpetual
procastination, i can't make my inspiration
come to life, appear before me,
so that i may grasp it, and mold it,
into something that lives, something that breathes
something that might not hinder me as i try
to make sense of this distant lie
i do not have inspiration,
nor do i have much chance of finding it,
though as i struggle through the day
sometimes i can't make my mind go away
go to sleep, get out of the fray,
the troubles of trying to find love.
Poetry by Tristan L.
Read 534 times
Written on 2007-07-11 at 03:00
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