Poem: Feeling stttrange… deranged…

Every time the change is changed,
I feel strange… deranged; arrange
a subroutine, for my routine,
and I’ll be less obscene,
I’ll be less mean, you see;

I’ll be free, to be me,
within the subroutine of
my routine.

So please don’t grow
into a flow, that runs so fast
it snaps my mast,
I want it to last…
the sameness; the non change-ness.

I don’t like change,
give it a name, keep it the same,
border it in a frame; a static print,
that doesn’t sprint, away from it’s now,
but instead, just stays the same,
call it a name…

THE SAME.
That’s my real name.


By Mike 2017

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