I Produce Nothing of Any Worth

I produce

Nothing of any worth

To anyone

Not even myself

When I am here

Inside the bunker,

Outside the forces crawl

Towards the capitol

Which they will never reach

Radio messages replay

Occasional bursts of happiness

Or is it merely a penis?

I cannot really tell

I produce nothing

Of any value, that is all

That I can say

For certainty

And when the bullet penetrates

My all-too active lazy brain,

My work shall be entombed

With what remains of me

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