Thursday, December 29, 2011

Jorgenson's Prison Chamber

Poetry I began writing during Algebra class this semester and finally finished today. Math. Yuck.

His hands are hooks
Try to probe my brain
I hate these books
Reaching the insane
I’m getting looks
Because I’m desperate
His hands are hooks
This entire place is a grave
Only an hour to be saved
Calling out my name
Thrown into your game
My knowledge is nil
The pieces don’t fit
I’m desperate still
Crumbling bit by bit
Chained here until
The board’s wiped clean
My knowledge is nil
A hole made of bricks
The mustiness makes me sick
Sophisticated green stone
Rattles my creative bones
You understand your methods
Now understand my madness
Precise products
Gut me with a ruler
Justify your methods
I’ll justify my madness
His hands are hooks

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