I am clinicaly inclined to be
a professional cynic.
At the procession of my choosing,
for I have chosen well,
to have a dose of peanut butter
from my Granddad's hands.
However, my confusion stems
from the protruding mushroom
under your drooping eyelid lance.
Do I pluck it and eat it?
If I do not, I go hungry.
How cannot you not see my
emaciated body?
I wear loose rags.
Are you encumbered to belittle me?
SO here I climb the chair.
Up at the rafters hangs
a tightly knotted rope.
If I am this depressed,
you would have saved me
by the bell.
We would have run away
to be with only us
and nature.
HAPPY 2014!
it is a new me.
sort of.
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