Maxwell B Anderson
Glib. - Poem by Maxwell B Anderson
Hearing and dancing to
raindrops pelting my windows and roof
Then, screaming sirens wailing
too piercing to notice me taking a break
Call me on the telephone
to break the sickening dull.
Of course I could call you if I had your number
or some spare coin change.
But now I realise I am just dead.
Just Sick from Pain.
I hate it.
I hate illness that anyone has.
Cause I really am sick.
sick of Glib.
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