Wednesday, 10 March 2010

Under a Microscope

Have you ever felt like you're barely human? As if everyone is out to ridicule you? To find the faults in everything you think, do and say? It's always, corrections, corrections, corrections. I'm not perfect. Who the fuck said that you were? Why the hell do you have the position of authority to ridicule me, when you are just as spineless? But I'm not like you, I'm not like you at all. I am a poet, I'm a writer. I sit alone in the dark with one candle to light a corner of my room and I write poetry, I think, I seclude myself, while you are out there, ridiculing me, ridiculing them and poisoning your own heart. But I've got no authority to ridicule you, because my heart's just as poisoned, my heart's just as black. I'm just as bizarre, as crazy, as insane, as troubled and as vulnerable as you. I'm standing on a train station platform. There are two trains in front of me, waiting fro me. Printed on the side of one of the trains, there is the word, "Religion". And on the other train, the word "Science" is printed. They're both waiting for me to get onboard. So I turn around and walk home.

Fuck you.

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