Tuesday, February 8, 2011


The click of a mouse
The tapping of keys
I see with eyes that transcend
The years, the years
Uncertain are my thoughts upon the etchings of my brain
Like nomads mapping trails, it's art, it is art
These thoughts that tease and twist inside my head
Feel fit to burst, feel fit to leave
An imprint

Fate unchosen or chosen by me, by who
Fuck fate, fuck love
I take it back
The intricate paths criss-cross
Too many me's, two I's for just one body
Is a soul an entity
Or is a soul plural?
Possesive, rampant I can't control
This me inside
These thoughts so pure can be so tainted
"I didn't mean it"
(But why did I think it)

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