Punk Nona

4:12

Once again
being swallowed by the mess
I've created around me.
Too many nights of broken sleep.
Too many days of being thinly spread.
Too many dreams given up
at the chance of a pitiful survival. All there is
is a heavy stench lingering in the air. The smell of a
failure to comply with the standard
but never really working hard enough
having ambition to do much else.
But dream. Dream of a better life, and better place
a meaningful existence in this crazy world.
Understanding that the suffering exists to endurance
and learn.

And above all else,
not letting anything touch you
more than you need it too.

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, April 5, 2007
Poem Edited: Thursday, February 10, 2011

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Edgar Allan Poe

Annabel Lee



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