Thom Isaacson (July 11th,1988 / Pueblo, Colorado)
Irony’s subtle lessons…
What a joke.
Irony doesn’t know subtlety.
It blatantly beats you senseless…
It revels in your sorrow.
It’s got me on speed dial.
I’ve been playing a song that doesn’t even want to be
And it’s given me the music.
The one’s we’re closest to
Are its favorite tools.
It lets your fucking heart bleed all it’s got…
On the wrong altar.
It smirks when you take up that knife,
It knows you can’t.
It shows you a door you’re too smart to open.
But there are no other doors.
Comments about this poem (ironic disposition by Thom Isaacson )
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