Considered Evil by Some…But Fun by Many.


Be it
That I
Wombed with a rose.
In essence the smell of death fragranced
The delivery room like potpourri.

Here a challenge existed.
But now,
With her,
Beauty in mind.
Trumped by the conclusion
Of time-alone.

I talked to a wall,
Or spoke into a fan
So my thoughts resembled
Chopped dialogue.

Here the discussion fluctuated
Between the perception of a rose wilting
And the inevitable decay of everything beautiful.

But I shouted!
And coughed!

Silenced in my venture to describe death
As a…
She loves.
She loves me not.
Time trial of second-hand masturbation.

I concluded at the onset of empirical servitude.

to say…
Believe me.

Thinking that God has a plan,
Takes away the pressure of performing good behavior
For the rest of us.

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