My toy, my dream, my rest.

Forgetting authority and industry, i beg with earnest for things not to change so
dramatically
Where pleas are left to the cadence
of whims. Most sullen at best.
In suspension whence i was once first, whither i know not. – now third i stand, forever in postponement
it does not sit well, it suits me not. – This misadventure.

Perhaps it is time to collect my coat, for it is cold outside, &
gelidity is no longer my element.
Of confessional poetry now idiosyncratic;
disarming, & gallant (all forthwith)
I wish you knew. you would never comprehend. How beautiful – wonderful, achingly so;

My soul is a sight.

~ by cryhavok on March 26, 2008.