Author Information
Quaint Offer
When did I once complete a thought
And view a whole before its pieces?
No... I think the pen just spills a word at times.
Ever blind to what will follow
And much less inclined to know how it will rhyme.
Like some random theatre:
Pieces upon pieces spoken through forgotten lines.
Broken monologues from weak protagonists.
A sinking battleship of paragraphs
Sunken by the seas of indecision.
Claiming blurbs of incoherence as a fruitful vision.
Hollow theatre claiming me and you as bastard kids:
Pitting me on wooden boards
To speak these lines to you
Like if you gave a shit of what I cry for you.
Oh but I'll subtly lie for you
If you can milk a meaning from my plastic feelings
Into fifteen jugs that you can glug
When you need healing.
So here is what I offer you:
A way to pass the time
Though the softer you may disagree
And claim me as the shallow end of honest seas.
How will I save face
And cloud my literary disgrace in a warm embrace?
A window of emotions soon turned sour at your taste.
So here is what I offer you
In all its scope:
A message for the world
Within an empty envelope.
So remove your each and all inflated word clouds
From my sky of hope
And turn your prideful slopes
The hell away from me.
