the density of escapism
i flinch at the stench of regurgitation.
deep in the forest of my beloved brain
is a lake so beautiful, but it drips into a drain,
and even the slightest of movements - an attempt
to cease its drainage - tends to exempt
me from this bondage of love and confusion.
the density of escapism is truthfully an intrusion.
No one cares for how deep our forests go, not hoe lovely they are.
Your an awesome writer. And I like the classical rhyme.
Very, very few do. Thank you so much! This means a lot. :)