You are an irrational human being
Spurned by such hopeful ideologies
Flourishing from blotted optimism
And your own journalistic severities
You're a complex mystery machine
With your cogs, bolts, nuts, or gears
Rigged into a smoother symphony
Of grinding, blood, veins, pain, tears
But tantrums tend to threaten you
Spilling over the cusp of controlling
My pillow's too soft! I have no clue!
Such petty churlishness encoding
Two can play that game, I'll indulge
I will let you throw bowls and plates
Shatter them, shards a nice mosaic
Until you can take no more of hate
Oh sweetheart, you're a pretty mess
Wipe the ink from your eyes, okay?
You don't need me to be your best
Your paper skin will start to decay
If you get broken by mere ant bites
How can you stand up to the giants?
If you cower sullen, lest not to fight
Dare you thirst to be one sycophant?
Kindly refrain backhanded assaults
And spitting venoms in my winery
I have my sour patch and my faults
Blame not the drink I taste, honestly
You must forgive my own invocation
Of my outward intrusion of illusions
I'll bend and say I learned my lesson
And suppress this smile of ascension
Am I ruffling your feathers, my dove?
Don't let this old friend be rude, hell
Irrationalities aside, you'll worry not
For we gotta have our own fun as well.
YOU ARE READING
Oneirology
Poetry♦♦♦ Oneirology: the study of dreams. Dreary reality intertwined with nuances of dreamy phantasm; for when my quill is spitting iridescent rainbow mirages instead of murky ink puddles. ♦♦♦
