I think I’m ineffective.
Every punch that I throw winds up as a dagger in my heart.
Every word that I write is twisted into a club
And used to bash my pride in (again).
Easy Listening.
Elevators and offices, small talk and weak coffee.
But I have no interest for
Repetitive rhythms and meaningless lyrics.
Teach me how to accept: I know only of stereotypes and skepticism.
(d)anger by karl sinfield
Music-HeartedSuburbia, USA
I’m Music-Hearted. That’s not my real name, but that’s okay. It might as well be. I reside in Suburbia, USA, along with millions of lost teenagers like myself, and go to a high school like millions of others.
I love music. I love theater. I love writing and thinking and feeling and laughing and contemplating and much, much more.
I’m flawed. I’m a thespian and a tragedian. I’m emotional and overly dramatic at times, but I’m doing my best to take things in stride. I could say I know exactly who I am, but that would be a lie. I’m still figuring a lot out, but who isn’t?
Feel free to sequel/prequel any of my ficlets! Seriously. Also, if you want to start a series or something, just drop me a note.
I’m a member of the LOA, which is superawesome. My title is the Mistress of Relentless Musings.
...Let’s talk sometime.
Song of the moment: Brandie Carlile – “The Story”
Published on July 03, 2008.
This story (like all ficlets) is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.5 License. What does this mean?
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Average Reader Rating:
Ineffective
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