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”
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.
Copyright © caleb johnson | Year Posted 2019
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