Don't ask :: prev :: next :: Why do I shutter? Why do I fall? Where is my hairbrush? Why am I tall? Why do my fingers each have one nail, and my persona constantly fail? If I sing loudly verse 2 and 3, might I get noticed? Look, there's a tree! People around me, so they would claim, seem to have purpose seem to have aim, seem very grounded - solid as rocks! I lack direction down to my socks. Perhaps they are weak, more so than I. They're playing a game, living a lie. If this is valid show me a sign. 4 squared is 16, 3 squared is 9. Something here tells me I'm not alone here on this bookshelf thin as a bone. I seem the thinest, of those my age, for those who read me, turning each page. Content is lacking, pictures are dull. It's hard to let them under my skull. Yet I know there's more, so I've been told, than this book's cover. It's getting cold. I'll shut the window, then I'll warm up, and drink some coffee out of a cup. Okay I'm back now. Where were we then? Oh yes, we're peeking under my skin. I can't believe that you are still here - you must be idle or drunk on beer. Why does it matter if I cannot see any order to all this lot? People are starving, evils abound. Whilst we are stuck here, twisting around. I'm sad I wrote this, wasted your time. Still aren't you pleased that I made it rhyme? © 2001 (17 may) john r. chase
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