19 years old, Israeli-born, brought up Russian, raised in Vancouver, Canada. College drop-out. Here's some writing I do because I don't care to explain why. Enjoy or don't, to be honest that isn't too much my affair.
Posted on 16th May 2013
79 notes

Tags: poem, poems, poetry, writing, creative writing, spilled ink,

Cookie Cutter Paradise.

Nothing phases me today,
Besides the ending of a day.
One day closer to my death.
I’ll be replaced by someone else.

Everything isn’t the same,
When what I’m doing is a game.
I play a card, and then I fold,
Because that’s all I’m ever told.

I need to get a proper job,
And get a fancy piece of paper.
I need to be part of a mob,
And watch my new life taper.

Tell me I’m a model man,
For those to come and take a place.
Tell me I’m part of a plan,
To blend into a single face.

Maybe if you make my grave,
A little more than six feet deep,
I’ll feel more special than a slave,
That earned his troubled sleep.

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