Beating

Sometimes there’s just no reason to do the things I do
but I find that I just do them to be more like you.
I want to feel I’m normal, whatever that may be
‘cos maybe if I’m normal, I’ll feel a bit more free.
Instead I feel all chained up in a world I don’t belong
trying to make out the words to some bloody song.
The rhythm is monotony; a single steady beat
kind of like the tapping sound of my walking feet.
Perhaps it’s just the beating of this poor old heart;
the one thing beating me to death from it’s very start.

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About a foolhardy florilegium

Nullius addictus iurare in verba magistri
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