Written word.

Perfect twisted gilded me,

Looking down at myself from a precious tree.

It’s unreliable roots and choking shoots,

Form my “too good for me” boots.

Looking for a high,

Plotting my demise…over chocolate chai.

Once building myself up by tearing me down.

A falsetto song and a hand made crown.

What I lack for in talent I make up for in blame.

Won’t you still play my game?

Floating back to reality,

Over the whole pity party.

Ferocious hug,

From a little bug.

Not desperate,

But deliberate.

Pandering, Pondering, Wandering through.

Thankful I am me and not me according to you.

Strong warm hands got my back,

Picking up me and all my slack.

Sinful, useful stories fade.

Swept up dead flowers from the passing parade.

So glad to know from absolutely absurd.

My outlet release in written word.