Weird Typewriter by Emmalizer


WEIRD TYPEWRITER 

A Poem by Emmalizer.

She's not my type,
Not with this time,
He ended been a typewriter's type,
After the typing of his type was typed.

Like a syringe drained his life,
The only fluid left was an alternative,
His waist rounded by the ribbons,
Ribbons of fetid,

Fixing up of effortful keys,
All needs the milked out oil from the typewriter's type's face,
That's a double sting indeed,

The age came that such endurance,
Packaged in a bag,
Lacks merit to lift the typewriter's hand,
All the fatigue received a crown of glory,

Typewriter weak,
Typewriter's type also weak.
Nodding of heads misaligned with the rhythm,
Waiting for a savior upfront.

© Emmalizer

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