Mr. Africa Poetry Lounge!
Exhausting inspiration, too full of it to love.
It can be bad for soul I have one, a soul that is.
Micro, it is gone as weird as it came. Gross.
Want to erase what's in me, must say loath.
Jumbled, what the hell eh, we live so far.
Something lacking, cannot pinpoint what to do.
Feeling drained, must replenish with restrain.
Leave somewhere, anywhere, and make it look good.
It will be long but not infinite, fastidious for sure.
The mighty entertainer is calling yet again.
Must respond, but release no respect.
Alone, no matter will be defeat in any way.
Written by Brad Morin
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