A poem, For Blind Lovers Of America

Nothing to do but sit and write this poem,
Wasted, and i feel my lips pasted,
Another person to tell me my life is all wrong,
But i am too young to be a veit cong,

A voice so pure and clean,
Another nutcase in the means,
More to be said, not a break clean,
But for someone else, a mean,

What does it take to spark outrage,
300 dead, , not finished in our age,
Something found today, but isn't mine
Sonthing regained, but i've lost my mind

I don't capitalize i, because i feel so small,
But all we need is someone wanting to give all
sonewhere a voice is yelling, no one listening,
Sonewhere neurons fire, and only a greasing

No end, just a continuation
No rhyme or reason,
Just looking for a function
Just a voice, a link for continuation

Sorry to say, i feel there is a gun,
To my head, and this isn't fun,
And there is a pattern, 3.14.......
And waking up is a horror,

And this in not something i adore.

(c) fonadi, written, in a stream, not a edit, 10:20CST.