like an old broken record player.. i run circles......around these circles... and it never makes any more sense than now... even tho as impossible as smelling purple.. every day i awaken...more confused than the previous... every day more jaded....more angry.... more devious... i guess the naturral progression....you get from crossing circles.... is cancelled by neglection...or remaining in those circles...
Reason for writing:
writers block..
like always
Birth sign: Aries
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by cipher.