Maladjusted
Can't cope so forgive me
I see the world in true form,
Not the fantasy easily reached and perceived.
Truth is the standing which resonates,
a strange sense of comfort
It is not negativity, but positivity,
in a Victorian fashion of bewilderment
It is the pulsating vibe of the bashful butterfly
And the satisfaction to the parched throat
Gently hypnotized by succulent refreshment
And self rewarding.
Though dilenquent among others
A raw sustenance, in solemn acquaintance
I am not alone, though inherit no home
And I eagerly await anyone who shares,
and begs for anyone in agreement and care
This is a DNA molecule and hair
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