so its 5:45 in the morning and today i was listening to my itouch and i hear this crazyyyy noise. my fan broke. i like to keep my room cool. my sleep cycle is already fucked and im burning up in this room and i cant sleep so...why not write it out.i'll probably end up writing another poem by the end of the day, which hasn't legit begun. 2 poem limits per day though is the rule. i'll adhere.
....but seriously, does anyone have a fan i can borrow until the end of the month?
hot and bothered
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tied is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity
-- William Butler Yeats
i can't help by lay on my back
in my room and i'm sweating
beads sliding down my furrowed brow
as i wonder where and when
things fell apart
my fan is broken and although im
burning up one of the main reasons
i keep it on al the time is the noise
drowns out everything in the hall
everything outside
everything in me
and now that i threw it down the chute
silence fills the room and
my thoughts are trickling down my face
and i can hear the pit pat of the
raindrops on this april morning
i guess i'll buy a new fan tomorrow
because i can't live like this
staying up until 6 am
worrying about these issues
that are suffocating me
with sweltering density
things fall apart
this i know to be true and i've
seen it happen so often this year
that i admit
that i've stopped trying to build up
what i know the tide will come
and wash away
but be that as it may
on this april morning i lay
veering between
a lack of conviction and
a passionate intensity
for the first time all year i hear
the kirkland bell tolling for me
im sweating and im swearing
that i'd stop caring
because these tools are to worn
to begin again
and why fight a battle
that you can't win
because things
fall
apart
