There are those content
    With fluorescent lights
Bathed in its warmth and cleanse. 
And those upset
    In the dark
And rot away in cold and decay. 

Not okay with drugged haze
    And plastic idols,
But withering in a mystic stench
Plain-minded and readily thoughtful
And those that ruzzle
    Claiming to stretch their minds. 

Those that burn ears in
    Primal pleasures
And few who sit in silence
    Think of an answer. 

Fifteenth story penthouse party
    And a seldom kept bed
Fit with cardboard 
     And wet with secret tears suffering. 

Links to books never read
     And bookshelves of words
         Never understood. 

Pictures tell their stories
    And stories
    Tell my stories.

What do you think? Criticisms and praise welcome.

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