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Jul 2017
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ᶦ ᵃᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒⁿᵉ ʷʰᵒ ᵇᶦᵗᵉˢ ᵗᵒⁿᵍᵘᵉˢ
ᵃⁿᵈ ʷᶦˢʰᵉˢ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵇˡᵉᵉᵈ
ˢᵒ ᴵ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ᶦᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᵒⁿᵉ
ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵈᵒᵉˢⁿ'ᵗ

ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵖᵉᵃᵏˢ ˡᵒʳᵉ ᶦⁿᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵒᵘᵗʰˢ
ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵒˢᵉ ʷʰᵒ'ˢ
ᵉᵃʳˢ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᶠᵃˡˡᵉⁿ ᵒᵘᵗ

ᵉⁿᵛᵉˡᵒᵖᶦⁿᵍ ᶦⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᶻᵉⁿ
ᵒᶠ ⁿᵒᵗ ʳᵒᵘˢᶦⁿᵍ
ᵃⁿᵈ ⁿᵒᵗ ˢᵉᵉᶦⁿᵍ ˢᵘⁿˢ
ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ˡᵒⁿᵍ ˢᶦⁿᶜᵉ ˢᵉᵗ

ᵇʳᵒʷˢᶦⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ᵃʷᵃᶦᵗᵉᵈ ᵒᶜᶜᵃˢᶦᵒⁿ
ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉⁿᵉᵐʸ
ᵒᶠ ʷʰᵒᵐ ᴵ ᵈᶦⁿᵉ

ᶠᵉᵃˢᵗᶦⁿᵍ ᵒⁿ ᵘⁿᶜᵒᵘᵗʰ ᵐᵘᶜᵘˢ
ᵃⁿᵈ ᵇᶦˡᵉ
ᵗᵒ ʰᵒᵖᵉ ᴵ ᶜʰᵒᵏᵉ ᵒⁿ ᶦᵗ

ᵃⁿᵈ ᵏⁿᵒʷ
ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵍʳᵃⁿᵈᶠᵃᵗʰᵉʳ ᶜˡᵒᶜᵏ
ᵃˡʷᵃʸˢ ˢᵗʳᶦᵏᵉˢ ᵗʷᵉˡᵛᵉ

ᵃⁿᵈ ʳᵉˡᶦˢʰ ᶦⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵃᶜᵗ
ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵒˢᵉ ʸᵉˡˡˢ ˢᵒᵘⁿᵈ ˢᵒ ᶜˡᵒˢᵉ
ᶦᵗ ᶠᵒˢᵗᵉʳˢ ᶦⁿ ᵐʸ ᵒʷⁿ ˢᵏᵘˡˡ

ᵃⁿᵈ ᵒᵍˡᵉ ᵐʸ ᶜʰᶦⁿ
ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ᵇˡᵒᵒᵈ.
for when the days seem so bland that you question wether this work is all for nothing, but you bite your tongue and continue anyway.
s u r r e a l
Written by
s u r r e a l  Florida
(Florida)   
387
     Ma Cherie
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