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MMA Writer UnderGround >> Any poets? Let's see the goods.


12/15/12 6:52 AM
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Dos Huevos Gigante
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Member Since: 1/1/01
Posts: 27716
Born into servitude, we feed this machine, this machine that subsists on blood and sweat and soul alike

As we walk we see our fathers break, as their fathers broke before, cogs in a device that never stops, never falters, it chews them as cud, and all it wants is more

We take their place in this machine, and work and blister and drive with all our piss and passion, that someday, we will be greater than the sum of our parts, that we will become the machinist, but it will never be.

Luxuries are dangled before us, driving us onward to an impossibility masked as a certainty, inmates told they are the jailers.

You just keep that motor running, Boy. You'll be done soon.
12/15/12 4:06 PM
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Dos Huevos Gigante
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Edited: 12/15/12 4:06 PM
Member Since: 1/1/01
Posts: 27717
I'm always asleep when she gets home, or so I would make it seem.

If I'm still up and walking, I turn everything into an argument, a fight for the sake of having something new to talk about.

From drunken slumber I reluctantly rise, and go about the machinations of my role, a choreography of sorts, second nature by now.

As I roll off of her, reeking of Bourbon and the layered sweatings of a three week bender, I wonder what the fuck she sees in me at all.

Fucking me makes her filthier than I am.

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