Hellbent on stamen and stipula
He knows no less than to associate
All crests interrupt when distraction’s wise
All crests interrupt in disguise
All hills tell them they belligerent witches to lie
To steal to die
In terms of lust or dust or rotten trust
I would do neither if I were broken
But to go on is life’s curse,
And leaving the forgotten behind leaves too much room for ghosts who know not
The disguise is foolish for it singes the skin
In other words
It doesn’t matter that much
Sorry, poetry friends; I’ve got to go now. Pumpkins and family to tend to.
Also thanks for the delusions. No really; YOU are ugly.