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Sunday, 1 August 2010


Why do I wake and feel, this empty..
Nothing left, not even a licker..
Like a fountain, in Venice..
Without a droplet, glitter..

What becomes, of once so firery..
To look down into eruptions..
On volcanoes and see no sparkle flicker..

To have  pots, feel so drenched out ..
Strained, with the black hole, dull..

Gauging, sucking in, it's structure..
Into a deformed reformed shape..
Of  drained out inflatable..

No audience around..
To see, me desperate..
The shops are closed..
And windows bolted..

Life of Riley, was not, to be seen here ..
On here, on this here platforms..
And at the edge, I see oblivion gaze..
Sat with a smirky grin, and in waiting..

How could this creek..
Be left so dried out, in an instance..
While just in a blink..
It teemed with life, so rich..
And reached so high up, in bountiful..

This has to be a delusion,..
Some sort of trikery,  played illusion..
Just by jesters play, on play parks ..
To see which one, laughs..
Out the loudest..

It has to be a face, this has to..
Soon to be passed by..
Soon so quick..

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