The Sophist

2014-08-28 12:00 am

My mother thought that being silent was smart.
This is why I spent days in the dark, 
bed-crazed and my heart sobbing. I was 
ignorant of light blocked by goblins of my 
mind hoping to keep me trapped in the land of 
forgotten. Now I'm plodding; plotting my escape
daily to find peace whopping, lock it with me 
in a coffin and die flopping; watching my life 
pass before my eyelids drop and my chest 
begins rocking. It's like trainspotting or 
going yachting; either way it's going to cost 
me, and either way I'm rotting. I like to 
believe this is my personality popping, but I
also believe that everything I do's common. 
I'm not smart, I'm not witty, in wealth I'm not
sopping. I'm not silent, and I pity the poor 
for their problems. I'm not here to cheat 
people or shit on their knowledge. Prithee a
moment where people aren't thoughtless; prithee
a moment to claim a few losses for a man who
silent misfortune made solemn.