Pretentious poetry paints priss and bliss as bumbling butterflies bouncing in bellies.
Bigots act big and figs fair well against the fairies' feeble fonder, though ponder the pitter patter.
Pitted peaches, plump and pink and with a wink she's whisked away. Wished away.
When will we wonder and wander westward? Wait? Well, why? Can't explain? Try. Tiptoe in the tulips a tiny bit tipsy, tomorrow's a new day and you are a gypsy.
Grow again and please refrain.
Go again and go insane.
Regain new ground growing gold, growing cold, clinging to crisp crushed canvas in the airy Autumn atmosphere.
Almost anything, anyone and their Aunt are amazing and at a loss for words the loopy ladies lose light in their laughter, a rift in the rafters.
We
all
fall
down.
YOU ARE READING
The Egoism Dilemma
PoetryThere's only so much one can take before one snaps and writes shitty poetry and almost-but-really-not deep thoughts. Xx
