Ripping out pages
As I write these down
Better swim to shore
Before you drown
This isn’t the place
For the likes of you
A filthy bastard
Set adrift, it’s true
But be grateful
With me to thank
For the boys here
Wanted you upon the plank
Transparent dresses hanging in the mud room
Saran-Wrapped for mild protection
Eyes closed to foreign tales
Tempered thoughts of stifled affection
Painted prose with regurgitated eyes
Our dreams left choking on the floor
Scribbling beliefs with thick gouges
Manufactured truth with cries of Nevermore
Redundant weight of classical heroes
Forcing us into bastardized Groupthink
Yet my mind still wanders to her opaque passion
Chasing her dragon with endless ink
“I tried to drown my sorrows, but the bastards learned how to swim, and now I am overwhelmed by this decent and good feeling.” – Frida Kahlo
Captain Q 