Confetti Confessions
Proceeding further voids the non-existent warranty on your sanity remaining intact afterwards.
I feel like a shred of confetti
Anchored by cotton knotted
To a strong, steel chain
Fused with a great grain of pain
Cast in a vast castles grave
Of felled shells, long dead
Whose bones become my bed.
I really, really must confess
I use better bones for my bread
I really must confess
That bread is not the best.
I really feel like screaming
As my clenched cheeks cling
To a complicated thing
Effervescing
From my minds twisted guts
Into incontinent pants
I imagine I’m wearing.
I really, really must confess
My mind's become one mucked-up mess!
I really must confess
This mess does not smell the best.
I don’t sleep in sand beds
Or soil shorts made of thoughts
But my baking is to die for
So sign here before you taste
These sweet and sour soul cakes
Whose recipe of joy and dread
Imparts more bang than bone bread!
I really, really must confess
I love my minds mad caress
I really must confess
Its caress feels senseless.
If symptoms persist, please consult the appropriate health care provider.
Copyright © Daniel Davies | Year Posted 2016
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