Finally I wrote this for you
It's a bit of a storm but it's not so blue...
Ghastly is the sound of my tone
Addressing you
Hideous is the appeal of my reflection
The locution of a dying creature
My entire existence is having a seizure
And my hands these palms can't let go
They just keep pressing on to my face...
Raynolds in the far south he prays
That his days be less gloom and more gay
A fractured mind and hopeless sensations
His misery exalts all the way to the 9th cloud
Meaningless batter-have days gone by
As if sailing a paper boat above rain
I've wondered for a time now
Ever since I started writing this
Was this supposed to be
A love poem?












