ooh I found some more dodgy poetry I wrote when I was really fucked up...
Confused Art
The edge of inflammatory reason,
Falling away into the night,
Darkness surrounding us,
Consuming our plight.
Feeding on the weakness,
Evident, in plain sight.
Nothing could prepare us,
For the effervescent fight.
Contradictory or without meaning,
Ambiguous and tight,
Lost in a fountain of insignificance
Nothing to do but recompense our fears that night.
Confused Art
The edge of inflammatory reason,
Falling away into the night,
Darkness surrounding us,
Consuming our plight.
Feeding on the weakness,
Evident, in plain sight.
Nothing could prepare us,
For the effervescent fight.
Contradictory or without meaning,
Ambiguous and tight,
Lost in a fountain of insignificance
Nothing to do but recompense our fears that night.
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Plus the poems not dodgy, I believe poems are often such a personal thing anyways, an expression of the writer in a particular time and place, you may feel its dodgy because you may not feel the same as you did when you wrote it? But what the hell do I know!
Take care and have fun