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Whether it�s a jibe, a snub, or a so called friend.
It�s the insignificant things that break a camel�s back
The last straw, the long goodbye � or some poetic hack.
Life is boring � it�s sad, but true enough to see.
Throughout we�re always searching for that one meaning to be.
And when you think you�ve found it, that the search is done,
The little things come crawling back, and steal what you have won.
Take literature, for instance � the art of fiction and prose;
Even after a lifetime of searching, I still can�t describe a rose.
Looking further to this so called poetry I write �
Even as I pour out my soul, I think it�s utterly trite.
So what can be done about this sad state of affairs?
Where the only fighting form I take is pathetic rhyming pairs?
Sometimes the meaning is hidden behind a wall of utter shit �
Fuck, I shouldn�t have sworn, or this poem will never be a hit.
L.S.P.
I’ll stop before I start.
I’ll stop before I start.
Oh, come on – I was looking forward to having the shit torn out of it 🙁
What?
Alright.
Sometimes the meaning is hidden behind a wall of utter shit �
Fuck, I shouldn�t have sworn, or this poem will never be a hit.I’ve thread this almost exact line from about ten other people on about ten other forums. Hit and shit. Fuck in the last line. It isn’t clever to play on shock value.
I’m not mean enough to continue.