Author Information
Parsimonious
Folder:
Personal "So hot headed,
but heavy is the hand
that is kept from raising.
Which,
being how soft
the surface below
it would fall upon,
it is al and well
no hand was raised,
indeed,
but there is no praise
for such common sense.
Uncommon men
and situations
make for comics
and comical accusations,
life's a joke
so sometimes I laugh at it,
but this time around
I keep frowning.
So here it is,
laid on the table
the meal made,
with much forethought.
And in the end,
all it causes is heat,
feet stomping,
no use for a cooler,
all around fire is sprayed
and it keeps trying
to catch,
skin not lit.
Whatever the reason,
be it power or to tower above,
stepping in increases rage,
decreases range.
Within striking distance,
add more fuel to the fire
burning deep inside,
taught to never lay a finger
on the fairer sex,
but the moment tests all control,
reveal, resist,
total consequence in the rearview.
SLew of words,
which hold meaning
spoken out of love or anger,
babble dipping into ears
is all tuned out;
been inside my head for hours
already.
So you go,
but not before raising your own hand,
no pain felt with the blow,
no weight to it.
But damned if the point isn't realized,
asked to leave
only to come once I'm gone,
leaving my abode vandalized.
How dissapointing.
An anger so roasting
kept cool with a conversation
with a friend,
longboarder, car hoarder,
keeps one in check
before diving into a bitter
back-and-forth.
The bitter look
thrown with an intense glare
with one more pass,
feeling sick to the stomach,
but if one wants,
just ask.
I can be more specific.
Penurious of kindness,
parsimonious of respect."
