It’s a worn-out point of contention *sigh*
I may not be the smartest beast on the block
But even I can see dark feathers don’t hide tinsel
Those fucking sparkles stand out like a neon sign
As a breathing storage system masquerading as human
I collect shiny things for review, be it literal or figurative
It’s a unshakable compulsion, if you consider that I am
Little more than an upright walking crow
But it’s a weight on my hard drive to compile so much data.
Plight, though it is, moreover a curse, the way it builds
The usefulness of my small collections do
Eventually reveal its beautiful binary self
The realisation of reality is like a drop kick to the solar plexus
Holding on tightly to the lockboxes of bits and pieces
It’s a fight to let go and I didn’t even know I was in the ring.
K.O. Mind. Blown.
The most wonderful reward for discovery, though
Is that once made, everything else is unneeded
Unnecessary, fit for nothing more than File G
But still it is so shiny, but must be removed
Thrown out …Jettisoned …Incinerated …
Murdered *rustling feathers*
To make space for more data