Anysort of variety- pure absence of it- my life it has no flavour- no taste no colors to palpate it- nothing to make it whole- my anger so Goddamn freely flowing- my hatred for things that I am not- my past so scarred with heartache- my future so blank a canvas- my senses so overwhelmed with stresses- my confidence so tainted with failure- my body so used up by Liquid Murder- bleak; feelingless an abyssmal void- I see nothing in the cards- no aces no Kings not even a duece- the world is playing a hand with only Jokers wild- stud cards suck how do you win? mistakes so many I've made- never can I go back no money for bills- no piece of mind only a cursed cracked mirror- my reflection staring taunting of what I was- I pray to God and I curse God and I curse everything- to be so young to be so useless to be so worn out with the world- scared of rejection scared of failure scared to be myself- in a world of carbon copy bullshit: is there a place for originality or creativity anymore? ~The PooRe PoeT copyrighted 2002 6-13-2002