haste killed creativity
the days blow by in agile moments of clarity and blind despair. with rage so thick it’s bittersweet to see a smile come through here and there. you put your faith in living, but youthful idealism is no longer welcome here. i’m not dead yet. hopes not dead yet. a hero’s march down scorn filled halls defeats the charity of last years h-ll. your vain eyes show no respect, just loss of recognition broken spirit burnt out will. sing a song of cynicism a foul smell of sh-t decay and degradation in the midst of celebration. i’m not dead yet. hopes not dead yet.