The Buzzing of Low Flying Fruit

The flies buzz past my right eardrum
purposefully trying to keep me insane
As I type out my life line before I die.
While the incessant humdrum of lost thought
From this whole damned country runs wild,
The hoards of glorified ill-repute send me off the edge of a cardboard cliff.
Since there is nothing left to say
My machine gun has laid still, lays silent
Killing my heart.

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