Monday, August 4, 2008

The broken wings of a butterfly

twisting down into some sort of transcending version of polly pocket girls with musked up toys and long brown bangs.
Breaking bulbs scream for news. Lacking on such terms of which the crowd demands. Flustered by the noise and lights, bitten by the sting of night, rampaged into pulchritude. Fist fights claiming front page news fighting fires and politicians for today's top line. I'm a man who fights violence using fists of blood and skin to make my mark into your chin. beckoned by the media for attention to spur a thought within. Clinging to it's every word grasping for a meaning. hope can be deluded with a dreaded sort of state. fear of failure motivates. Dear loved ones, I cannot exist, for where I place my solid feet contradicts the world and all of its ill-beliefs. Man and woman live today, man and man live today. existence threatens morals.

Believe in what you're fighting for.

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