Food no longer sustains me, the recipes of old tastes bland, & however fried lacks in texture, I hunger for sustinence, I crave the love; well cooked
July 2019
In the red corner: the traveller, the
businessman, the one who has it all
.
In the blue corner: the paperweight, the
slacker, the one no longer wanting
.
[no contest will here take place; our
two contestants are one, the same]
.
[the path not taken in this case of ours,
of little significance, nay say none]
.
[time will not explain how red transformed
to blue, nor if magenta hides; a bore]
.
[of solitude; of loneliness; of such states
of agony; our answer should be painted]
.
.
.
the end
[if not a beginning]
behind-the-veil-of-sanity-reblog:
Life’s become wicked wicket boundaries
bats keeps me on my back for six
on the crease bewildered men standing
running but in the end always caught
and out