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Emotionally OrchidPeeling away the dingy wallpaper,
I stare right into the concrete Of myself In utter denial… Surrounded by Emotionally orchid Old Children Made of play-dough. No proof of my sanity Is apparent at the moment, Yet I witness much profanity, As angry little people voice defensive comments. In a state of contemplative panic I reside, Few of those who tried to help have long ago resigned, I raise my glass to lonely nights and lovers at a distance, Once everyone has left this room, I stand so squalid… I intend to be demure, While at heart a Cynosure… Strung to guide I feel misguided, Even though my star ignited… Then I heard Mother said, She was worried about me. Said, it would all heal… All that I’ve got to do, Is to walk as me, until I’m no longer here. What did she mean by that? Is this some kind of cruel joke? When something’s dying all around… How could I ever let go? Oh I see… I have been demoted yet again, For such small digits, And such pretty hair… Clearly I must have not lived, I have no marks on my face! Not nearly contagious enough disease of thinking, Criminally simplified For the perpetually capricious Humankind. Such emotionally orchid, Yet adulterated children, Shaking their trite little fingers, Why do they claim the Bible that they didn’t write! I could never understand this certainty of knowledge, One that sells in malls with pricy tags, as labeled “College”, Whatever happened to the simple use of intuition? When will you graduate yourself some common sense, dear? Someone’s troubles to endure, Sacrifice myself as cure. Only now an empty vessel Gulps for contents in a hassle… Then I heard Mother said, She was worried about me. Said, it would all heal… All that I’ve got to do, Is to walk until I’m no longer here. What did she mean by that? Is this some kind of cruel joke? When something’s dying all around… How could I ever let go? |
