Poem place babeh
I don't see many problems with the methods I use, the words I use, the actions I use. I use up things and do things and say things fast. It's how I work, okay?
Maybe it's because I'm scared of dying the next day, or wasting so much time. Time isn't really money or worth anything, it's a word, just a label to describe the virus. It's slowed down everytime I go fast. We're incompatible aren't we? It's as if I know death is when time stops finally, which is why I do things in a fast pace. A fast pace I do things. Fast music, fast speaking, fast acting, fast reacting, fast everything. No I wouldn't go buying a fast car, but I'd not wait outside when I could go in the bus and wait. I know it's almost pathetic speaking about this but it's true. Everything is better done fast. Screw the tortoise, I cooked him and his slow and steady last night. What's it gonna do for ya now huh? I wouldn't be like that stupid ******** hare and go to ******** sleep. No I'd just get it all done fast and then go nap under a tree and make the tortoise think it won. I am fast, I do things straight away, like this poem. Who needs to do poetry really slowly? Does it really take that long to think of the word the?
Because really, after all... I work in a fast pace... we all are moving on so fast... It's meant to be fast... like this... like... this... pause.
Jessybelldove · Sat Jul 25, 2009 @ 10:35pm · 0 Comments |