an inch and a peck of love will only get you as far as a foot and a pint of despair, following at a meter's length to find the truth beneath the quart of sarcasm, and the league of generosity one sees the notes of reason, rhythm, rhyme and writer's block.
quartered and halved by ennui and general malaise, hence to be or not to be is no longer the question at hand, instead it has been trampled by the feet of defeat and lays limp as a dog on a log laying in the summer heat, lolling it's tongue through the airs of notoriety and retreat.
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