my, oh my...
you dont understand my nostalgic frustration, protea. so many times i wanted to let you know how i feel and yet i cant utter a single word. protea, please... can you help me through this. help me to express how i feel. take this beating organ and splash its contents on your unblemished exam pad. dip your pen in my waste inklet and sketch the contours of every white scarlet cell. help me tell the tale of my insomniac descent into your peach rings splashing your whip cream juggling dateless revines where i just took great divine. if it isnt up then im down, lowering my ribless sternum above your passionless reform of back and forth, look at me protea. look at that big emotional blotch on your paper. ah! what you did.. i dont know, i cant see light in this petalless segments. you graceless lace. silky turquoise pigment traces. i cant chop you up and toss the salad. you have flowerwashed me. im a botanical freak! oh, protea.. why did you do this to me...
suck my feelings rather, for this paper isnt clean.
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Please dont think me crazy.. its just been too long since i've written anything and this probably reflects my emotions. so sing it, lick it, taste it.. whatever you want just dont steal it.
YOU ARE READING
protea
Poesia"her heart was a secret garden and the walls were very high." a flower, protea an admirer a past of pain a garden of rehabilitation a love soil deep Come see their journey
