bleak,
bleak,
it is a bleak day
and i am tired
my words used to weigh
millions of tons of
warm blood,
genuine tear
sincere sweat, once
now
i
am
too
sick and tired
of my own sarcasm
and, and, and,
i saw my people happy, with their
wives,
husbands,
signi-fucking-ficant-others,
children,
and their nine-to-five regular jobs
everything i've dreaded to have
happy
bruised here and there,
broken a little,
tarnished a bit,
but genuinely happy
which forces me to believe
may be it was bread-and-butter
i should have worried about
not `why's
or `how's
`meaning's or `truth's
all the useless junk i wasted my cheap words on
may be all was the surface and
superficial was the deepest i could get
i am sad that
i have grown to be an hollow shell
a shell cracking under its own weight
because, i've lost my faith in
the trancendent,
the beautiful and
the just;
for thy kingdom has never come
thy will came un-done
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