My Dear Poisoned Beast
My frontal lobe is tickled by your exoticism,
Making one understand why choices made are extreme.
My talons grasp onto what I understand to be true,
Yet your grasp is mines true intention.
Your feathers itch and in my mind tick, tick, tick,
Tick tock self-loathing is eternal when I am in your arms.
Even as I sit here writing, you’re pecking at my poise.
Picking apart the pieces provided for promotion of personality.
“Alliteration is an amateur’s facade for failing phonetic frolics”
It says.
Yet to an extent I appreciate you, you ground me oh feathered monster,
I learn from you and I yearn for you but keep you at distance.
I pluck what I must from you, my dear poisoned beast.
I take control of my own life, from this day onwards.
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