Type and type and type some more.
My hands are cold and my butt is sore.
Type and type and type some more.
Damn the fools I write this for.
Type and type and type some more.
Dirty clothes all over the floor.
Type and type and type some more.
Lock turned tight on the sound-proof door.
Type and type and type some more.
The monotonous drudgery that I deplore.
Meaningless words for those I abhor.
Creating a world absent of decor.
Unaware of my own folklore.
Emitting an obscene and abusive odor.
My every new thought leaves me unsure

As I Type and type and type some more.

© 2005 by justin michael cresswell