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Poem: Birth

How Fucking bastardly
The process of earth 
You come across people 
In real life, that are awful. 
One word for them are
Awful. Not the process of Birth or
The creator but people who dare 
To create connections with you. 
No, they aren't easy to deal with. 
They are downright difficult. 
They are going down the path of 
A snake. 

Hateful, hatred, I don't know 
I hate money so much yet I want 
My ideas to blossom like Sakura. 
This very moment. 

Creation barks. The fucking world. 


       Will End. 


The news. The New York Times. 
Hatred. Killings. Musings. 
Two ducks. Central Park. Silence. 
Chubs. Jocks. Warnings. Ice creams. Silence. The world will end soon. The feelings no more. Austrian autism. 

"Worth it? I don't know. I don't fucking know. I don't fucking care." Bobby said it 
Loud and clear in support of the birth pills. 

The loud mouthed Angela was part of the business. She actually did it. She actually listened a coup d'etat because liked the word. 

Internet's Own Boy was Listening curvatured into a chair. And I was listening too. It's just that it was too loud, "shut up, I said and I never looked into then mirror again."

I was silenced. 





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Poem: Birth

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