Sardonic Whimsy
In a constant game of deceit and request.
Where the whistles of steam are dribbling.
Hoots in light of my cynical eccentricity.
Where a reflected area of stars sparkled.
Mirror the perspicuity of my pain.'
There I am, hanging unstably in the air.
I was quashed in a fog of moist regret.
Written: March 20, 2022
Copyright © Sotto Poet | Year Posted 2022
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