Boringgggg

You don't get any footnotes.
But hey, there's no bullshitting around,
when I say I'm sitting calmly in a lull,
and that even peace comes with knowledge
of future storms and lost hope in ressurected
peace.

And you'd expect vibrance in the throbbing poet,
for raising his tongue once again, but none,
rather calm and anticipation of future days,
to conquer new storms,
because it seems that passivity is a far cry from suffering,
and too bad it's madness,
 cause we'd all be sitting on our ass,
and so, I'm going out on the town tommorow,
and I'm pretty well aware 
that it'll take generous ammounts of chemicals,
to keep me aware, alive

And experiencing, to keep me freshly mad,
and writing something, anything, but rambling diaryesque non-fiction history plays,
in which I'm stuck with Lear. So perhaps tommorow. we've a Hamlet, or a Romeo, Lysander,
and a poet-prince mad againe.

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