again, titleless. However, the title of the myspace post where I originally posted this was "Bedbugs Hold No Metaphors"

You know, I could always just write another poem.

I could make it hopeful, or tragic or lovelorn, or cynical; you name it.
But I don't want to say the same things that have been said over and over and over again. By me. By the great poets. By each and every person, each and every day.
It's hard to speak your mind, or your heart for that matter, without merely re-wording things that have already been spoken, time and time again.
Even this. This call to arms to an attack on monotony, it's a proclamation in shambles. There have been many (though not as many as the followers) who also long(ed) to bring something new.

Is all that is new, old?
I'm not certain.

But I am certain that I have yet to find a way to bring something entirely revolutionary to the table.

Words words words.
I tremble at the thought that none of my words will matter.
To you, reader.
Or to the state of this city. State. Nation. World.

I long emphatically to be more than dust.

But one day, that's all I will be.

Then again, who really knows?