Pensive War

In attempting to open the can of peas,

the nymphet cuts the skin on her thumb.

Blood ensues curtly,

like oblivious treatment.

Disregard the wounded girl who has gone astray.

To choose herself would be a cruel slaughter to the bond with her dear mother.

She is a nymphet, no longer , she is now a beast

and a tempestuous one too.

What an ambush of fleshy revelations for the weak-minded.

Life is never without it's myriad of ambiguities.

-Like the colors on a butterfly's wing

will them to be orange or blue

but they will be whatever they are.

To speak the truth or not, we would never know the difference.

There are instances of even flatness.

Impartial to their madness

Pressure wanes then vertigo follows.

The serpent does forgive

because she breeds poise

unlike the half-wits who are her beneath her.