This isn’t so bad
When we hear what we read
But I still want to speak to you
Love you and leave
You know me
Always running
Away from the conflict
But seeking it out
Like a wannabe convict
I’m on to the next
Best political tact
To be one with the people,
Methodically act
Like I own the place
Homeless
Or housed in a hopeless
Rich fortress of decadence
My magnum opus
Is penned either way
And each night to you gifted
A piece of the me that day
Puzzle unscripted
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Message Me Afterwards
>That was a bad idea. I thought you knew… >Oh, the pathos! I don’t really know you as well as I should. In fact, I may not know the real you at all. That essential, sparkling you that you only reveal to a select few. Had I been paying more attention to the stories you are so fond of telling, in which you are invariably author, narrator and protagonist, I would not have been so foolish as to set you up on a blind date. After all, no friend has ever done anything of the kind for another. That’s preposterous. What is a friend, really?
By D. J. Reddall4 days ago in Fiction
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