I could die
but what would it be for
I could die.
Nothing gets me no more
What is life
could answer it
but
for who would it be for
Severed my ties
nothing to cry no more.
Could you be nice
I need some comfort.
what are you asking for?
hands
that hold without pity;
an ear that listens
without personal stakes
in the words
that hiss
over my tongue
for so long
held back
over the course of a day:
no need
had to slip;
not a thought
I forgot;
no unnecessary talk.
want some more:
can it be something else?
maybe some money
in a paper bag,
the deserved respect
from the intellectuals
and plebeian masses alike
or the ability to jump to the moon?
Self producing resource’s fate
concept of purpose
reserved for machines
questioning itself
for shift is necessary;
everything is in
vicissitude.
Nothing ever really changes.
I am still
intrigued
by the thought of you
that makes me weak
vulnerable
a dot on a map
you can easily
read into
I shouldn’t feel that way.
but that’s the thing:
– I want to.
John D.Dexter 