Best Poem of W.B. Mad

Suffacation: What Defines Me
You say you love me.
Yet you feed me filth.
Do you see my sick skinny bones and sickly flesh?
Do I look healthy to you.
My sickness I keep and hide away just for me.
Ask me for some and I'll tell you 'NO! '
This IS my sickness, a dedication of my love and effort into the American system.
Gears turned . . .
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Hidden Dreams
Dreams real and yet still indifferent.
Left on old rickety shelves for further investigation.
Dreams left in the dark spaces.
Hiding from the world, and all the peering eyes.
Lights shining bright on old horizons.
The old dreams illuminated. . . .
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