Unpolished Futile Masterpieces
From the bottom you float up,
Little scribbles I wish I could make you into art,
In great expectations and passion you present to me
But apologies I am consumed by beauty and shadows
Drenched and drowning in reeking blood of apathy.
When the dust settles and all battles are almost lost
I ink my dismay and my blues, little sunshine and little glows
To breathe another gulp of life and for another setting of sun.
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