proverbialpotato

Hear the pitter patter of the morning showers, here the pitter patter of the rainy season descends, cascading across a field, blown by a passing wind. All winds are passing winds, and all rain drops flow, as the flow of nature continues, so goes the field and the rain. A cycle, desired and usually inevitable, a bicycle, desired and usually obtainable, glides expertly along the dirt paths, making wind, making fun, making light reflect from its wheels, making to go the rider, escaping the rain.

Durability in my outer crust, I seem so unshakeable but if you could only see how soft I am beyond that, you would wonder how and why. Impenetrability in my outer crust, I never seem to care yet if you could only be in my shoes for a day, you would wonder how and why. Cracks in my outer crust, I thought I hid it but crumbs tumble for all to see how soft I am beyond that, and I wonder how and why.

OH THOU RETARDED COW, I MUST MARVEL AT THEE, FOR WHILE OTHER BEASTS GET STUCK, IN FENCES OR A TREE, YOU'VE MANAGED TO FIT BETWEEN YOUR OWN BUTTOCKS!

Pitter patter, rain drops flood my eyes. Pitter patter, is the sound of crying skies. Pitter patter, rain drops hit the ground. Pitter patter, does heartbreak make a sound.

Reaper, reaper, armed with scythe, why have you come here tonight? Mortal, mortal, do not fear, I'm here for that phone charger over there. Reaper, reaper, I must fear after all, take me instead, I need my charger after all.

Words left behind, behind the pen, unable to make it to the page, haunt me sometimes. Words left behind, behind the frustration, can't seem to fit how I'd like, haunt me sometimes.

Some think fate hangs like a red string, Others say that destiny is everything, And I have seen the sands of time scatter and fly, just as dreams fall outside of the grasp, of the diligent and worthy, while others cruise to undeserved paradise. Fate seems more like a red noose than a string, Dripping with blood as it continues to ring people dry. It's understandable that people lock dreams away, clasp their heart in hand, eyes blurry, being born was their only vice.

Broken shards cover my identity, revealing the lie I try to be, him, he is complete, while I try, to escape the stark reality, of my flaws, my fears, my end drawing nigh, it remains.

Broken shards cover my identity, but I know these cracks could never hide me, myself, I am complete, though sometimes, why, escapes me,and yet the surety, of my face, my existence, my endless sky, it remains.

I've been to so many funerals, but I can't bring myself to care, so I fake feelings of empathy and drear, while inside I'm the picture of apathy. As I watch the undertaker place whoever, into the ground, I feel as though, standing by the mound, I've also buried those insincere feelings, for my extended family. Another sin I add to the pile, as I look to the judgmental face in the mirror, and flip him off, thinking, I wish it wasn't who I was either.