Static

Here's a poem I wrote last week; it took me all of 10 minutes to write--I hadn't written anything in over 2 weeks...

Repeat it!

The pen is my pistol and I grip it like a glock
To demand mankind's attention,
And threaten their perceptions;
Strangling ideologies and debunking so-called "given-truths".

Lately I've been going through some things.
Nineteen, forced to face my destiny,
And realize my potential.
I've learned to value these transgressions,
And take the fruit from this tree of experience;
Breaking my bones, living to learn.

I have to learn to live.
Relearn to write, that is, do right.
Do right, so that I may rewrite
The true reflection of my life
With new eyes, formerly crossed.
Which had my mind tossed, lost in a daze,
Fazed by the fake face of my foolish fate.
The image is blown up so I can adjust the pixilated face,
Blurred reality in a real piteous perspective...

Therefore, my intro is subservient to my conclusion
As should be...
Repeated. Repeat it. Again: Repeated

The pen is my pistol and I grip it like a glock...
Demanding man's perceptions and strangling fallacious truths!

Through repetition throughout time
My purpose remains static...

Repeat it. Repeated. re-peat it!