A phone is valuable,
a phone is treasure.
Gold and glory,
untold.
To be taken,
or to threatened so,
Is a danger,
we act in fear.
So I grabbed my phone,
I plundered it,
I pressed the button,
'Erase'.
I erased it's mind,
I erased my mark,
an empty metal beast,
in it's part.
And now I can't get onto my phone,
so I have to write a poem,
that I don't emotionally feel,
and I can just go to the apple store.
The place where apples are fixed,
so we can eat them with our brains.
Why am I continuing this poem?
Oh, right, I must explain.
That I got the phone as a gift,
and now I can't get in again.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
PoetryJust some rants by me. Maybe I'll publish my sucky old ones, maybe I won't. You'll never know.
