Driving his mental Hersey

A poem about supression

She must lack imagination to be threatened by me
We have the same objectives and everyone agrees
I'm an idiot and we're dumb asses and she's got all the power
Instead we're throwing poison arrows and defeating our own purpose
for the supposed sake of one we love, driving him to his grave

So the answer came in the wind's own sacred lips,
service them with smoke straight up their asses, that'll distract em
sure enough
every time, it works

Reviews

[bobc]

Quite like the last three lines...made me smile when I read them the first time...made me re-read the piece altogether. Good work...bob

[Candice P]

thanks for reading! I'll go check out your page