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Thought Provoking Nonsense
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jubilant january Maybe my question was just far too general
For her fragile mind
I warped it.
Now the peanut butter,
The orange juice,
And her beautiful swan song,
are all laid out on the floor for passers by to admire.
My question unanswered, by only a kiss,
Hammers a hole in my chest,
And my head,
Now I rest in a meadow at dusk
Where everything happens.
And she says, but not answers, that I could be much better
If I tried a little harder,
If I played a little smarter,
If I tried to be a martyr,
With my words,
That maybe then I'd get the answer I was looking for.
So much for spilling guts.
