popcorn

so what do we do when all is left are figurines gifted in the unholiest of manners and the crusties in my eye when i awake are no longer their since sleep is a distant memory and all the tides of highs and lows simmer to a stagnant plateau because days no longer carry weight surmounting to popcorn on a string --one just like the last-- suddenly a day --popcorn with extra butter and just a pinch of salt-- comes and shakes the bland you into something recognizable a sparkly-eyed realist with an unusually magnetic personality drawn from absolutely nothing but the reality that life goes on and we just have to be aware of peoples polarity s.q.

Request permission to use this poem

Written by

For You?

Explore

Hello PoetryVoting

Write