Forced Writing Proficiency + Magic = Who Cares?

My English minor contributes to me getting stoned and writing depressing "poems" that may or may not make sense (written Nov 4):

Why do you do these same things?
Every day you wake up in the same filth
and you check the wristbands and
markings on your arm to know where you were

And its just a haze and you make your coffee
kind of vegetate but you go at it again
because your spine fuzes with your blankets
songs attach themselves to every nerve

Who was that man? He has a girlfriend
and I don't think he likes the way you really look
You don't know me you don't I don't
But you know you missed out.

There are things missing but
its going to be good either way
But your eyes dry up
and the music won't play just right

There are hands so close to yours
But you won't touch them even though
They've reached out and are true
And you know it too which is funny.

But you look at everything as this big
Frozen hole that is the world
and every thought you've ever had
is locked up and unleashed at some point

Every word seems essential
Every mistake, there is some kind of gain
No one cares and no one wants
to see the typed word written out of

Repugnant forms of


This file was saved as 'if no one cares do you still write?' to which the answer appears to be 'yes.' My subconscious is astounding sometimes. I like to read what I don't know I've written... if that makes any sense.


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