Just a Statistic
I'm just a statistic
Who's just another number
I need to kill someone
To find myself a doctor
Time's vacuumed my soul
and my conscience is revoked
There's lots of little holes
Where my minds decomposed
And there's scabies in the ceiling
between the cold war hemispheres
while flooding whispers are shrieking
A reproduction of King Lear
There's bars on the dollhouse
Where ship of fools sails
I'm getting looks from a door mouse
Who's eradicating the veils
behind tableaux's of impressions
words are pouring from the guilty
wraiths in Wordsmiths clothing
Elicit rudiments of frailty
So I'm just a statistic
A calculated problem
Who need's to kill someone
To find myself a doctor
Now all the vases have shattered
To the sailors blue sojourn
While the cellar doors fractured
On the camels backs hump
I've swallowed my condolence
And given sanity its notice
Paid the dues for moral patience
But am conscripted as its patient
There's an Obscured Riviera
For the tears in the halos
Where all hope is primavera
To the black holes with cradles
Buried half forsaken diamonds
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poem by Kevin Patrick
Added by Poetry Lover
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