Roughly as poetic as a bag of smashed arseholes.







Scribble back.


Wednesday, 17 November 2010

5. Purer form

All that I want, is to express myself,
Without judgement, or happy returns,
Or commiserations
Through a media as yet unfound
Waiting to be discovered by a future race
Where emotion is perfectly conveyed
With no need to scream, or write it out
Translation always leaves truth in doubt
Interpretation can lead to mistakes
This purer communication will stop me
Looking for company in the darkness at 3 am
And I will finally be able to sleep

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