Bore

I speak in sound bites;
they gnaw at your ear lobes.
Each cliche burns my lips,
but I say them to keep you quiet.
Not a word is true,
at least that's what I tell you.

I speak in revisions:
revisions of revisions.
Each draft less coherent
than the one before.
I have no knack for poetry
and my lines ignore me.

I'm speak in locked diaries;
my lips are sealed.
Each book: a dying part
of who I used to be.
I don't mean to bore,
so I won't speak anymore.

**************************************

I'm really tired of writing shitty poetry.


"Am I correct to defend the fist that holds this pen?" Brand New It's Good To Know...