Poetry

chris/ February 18, 2000

All are one, but one’s too many;
I know this isn’t enough.
Life and love ought to be plenty,
But what if you call my bluff?
These words are cheap, I mass-produce
The lines, I feel each one true.
However, to write seems no use
I don’t want to bullshit you.

Fuck it; I’m tired of this poetry shit any goddamned way.

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