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For all these years,
Thin like organdy,
I’ve wandered under
Some sickly guise
Some sickly guise
That I hailed as an apex of truth
Write when you are empty.
Spend your days
burying your thoughts in print,
allowing the words to take you deeper
than your feet could ever wander.
Write of the rains of November,
of bruised sunsets,
to drink is good; good for the soul,
though only if, you lack self control.
imagine this; picture it quick;
you've drunk until you're not quite sick,
What’s in the glass?
Is the glass half empty or half full?
Pessimism versus Optimism
Both have their pros and cons
