I think sometimes that all art must have deep and true meaning
this is false, so I write you a poem about my furbee I got when I was 8 that sits atop my desk, slumped over
You sit there, blue and dead and silent
empty are your eyes
cold are your eyes
precise, mechanical, and possibly cynical
you lit up once
no more is the glow in your eyes
you once had
there you sit, silent, blue, and sad
- 11:02 at night
on a tuesday night
because reality is false
YOU ARE READING
no real agenda // poetry
Poesíapoems for all the words i can't say anything and everything goes. i write sporadically and about whatever i want. hence the title i've had the same compilation since the 6th grade, please skip to the better poems... (aka deep breaths and onward, ob...
