I have flowers in my throat.
The rich and fertile caverns of my chest support a ebullient host nematocera, of which, breed in my abdomen, gnawing at my innards.
Swarms of adults congragate in my mind, the competition is fierce.
Attitudes of altrusim: a moist mire, slowing my step.
Try to say, anything, but that.
I'd rather attract the nausa of rhopalocera.
Their light hearted and short-lived whimsy. A far cry from this violent mob. Oh but the sob of emptiness when they all die at once.
A welcome boon, that, maybe we'll come to bloom. Clumsy and crooked, I was never able to make a play when all I'm pitched is a doorsa.
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 2:21 PM UTC
I have flowers in my throat.
The rich and fertile caverns of my chest support a ebullient host nematocera, of which, breed in my abdomen, gnawing at my innards.
Swarms of adults congragate in my mind, the competition is fierce.
Attitudes of altrusim: a moist mire, slowing my step.
Try to say, anything, but that.
I'd rather attract the nausa of rhopalocera.
Their light hearted and short-lived whimsy. A far cry from this violent mob. Oh but the sob of emptiness when they all die at once.
A welcome boon, that, maybe we'll come to bloom. Clumsy and crooked, I was never able to make a play when all I'm pitched is a doorsa.
Request permission to use this poem