On the days I don’t believe in my poetry

I put my faith in trifling duties,

Like watering an almost dead plant,

Or, getting frozen pizza out of the oven in time.

There is no good time to tell your

Parents you didn’t find it feasible

To continue existing so you improvise

A little and say,

” I ‘d like to a therapists.”


The yellow bottle and that careless

3-foot-disappointment who got devoured by a dragon later in the story.

I know what it’s like to be lost,

Spiralling around in surreal galaxies,

Your growling stomach not knowing

The anti – gravity pathway to the

Uncooked pasta you left behind.

Leaving bread – crumb trails or marking trees is an old – story now.

In this fairy tail ,

To survive you got to put a false face and hold on.

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