A short and certainly weird poem about a question I really don't wanna ask... |
-What Do You Do?- by Keaton Foster What do you do? A question The answer Reprehensible In scope In matter Every detail Each word Increasingly Makes me sadder Much much madder I can’t get a break Because I allow none For myself and others I am my own crux My own terrible truth There is of course Little that I can do I know I am aware I understand One day real soon Both my head and heart Will explode Boom! I’ll be left in a mess From those shadows Fate will scream Clean this shit up What do you do? I’m of course asking But quite truthfully I don’t want to know It’s just small talk The work of the devil Chit chat Should be called bull crap I just don’t want To hear a single word Not a God damn sound I am not concerned Nor will I ever be Too soon to hate you Is there a time requirement A point when justified By those unjustifiable What do you do? Wait, I don’t care I do not resent What it is you have Or where it is you are Well maybe I have other fish Plenty to fry Other humans To further and further deny I don’t really love anyone Heck I don’t love me Empty Is all that I seem And in my case Reality is astonishingly real When everything is not I am lost But I was never found I am in between Where are you? What do you do? What Do You Do? Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2014 |