Sheeror

A drawing or a sketch? Garbage.

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Time is the Universe’s Intestine…

Probs shit but I haven’t written anything in forever… so, here, have some shit.

I have so much rage that it cannot be caged.
Yet can it be contained behind my double-breasted refrain?
Can I keep it in check behind a wall of jest?
Or shall it all go sour in my finest hour?
I keep my hairshirt wrapped around my neck,
A noose of the things I shall not let loose.
I hold my grudges close to my chest,
Where they molest me.
Perverted cause breeds a twisted effect,
no matter how erect…
Can we stand tall amid a freefall?
Can we think when we don’t even blink?
Can we learn that which we forgot?
That which we didn’t care to remember?
Returned to sender….
Tie me up and set me loose.
Hand me an experience I’ll surely use.
Are we a textbook or a bag of regrets,
Or haven’t tried that yets?