A fault in appearance, function, and we are gone,
Controlled by appearance, function, ideas,
Wrecked by society,
One would think a well oiled machine works with no fault
But it does not - it collapses to the floor,
Reflexive surface scratched with all those words...
Those horrible echoing words...
Obviously there's nothing you can do about it,
Nothing you can do do polish the dead thing,
It is consumed by the nothingness it deserves.
Because it didn't work.
And when something doesn't work, it gets thrown away.
Why does that happen?
It's a waste, when resources are low, why can we not tempt ourselves to just keep one little thing,
Just to help ourselves along,
But no.
No.
and the words keep echoing
And there's nothing you can do.
I tried to fix it but I kinda liked it.
YOU ARE READING
Just Poetry
PoetryMy poetry. Read if you like word twists, complex vocabulary and sentences of utter nonsense. Yeah, that's literally what my poems are. Rhyming lines of extreme nothingness. Xx Cover by @YoursTrulyMaryZ (The first few are okay, but then I just start...
