jotted on a leather-bound notepad
by hand, to take down the most
unadulterated of emotions.
Timetables sketched
on succeeding blank pages,
hoping to attract the likelihood
of its probable occurrence.
Thin circles are but default,
on dates imagined to be
momentous, momentarily.
Momentarily. Because the scheme
was not about to probably occur.
The scheme was to be screwed.
Detour, divert, deviate.
Go find some other way.
Prove that it should be
In your custody, your clock.
But bleed yourself dry
because here comes somewhere,
somewhat. Someone.
Palpably, plainly, patently,
the scheme was screwed,
all the more screwed as
imaginary probabilities make you
detour, divert, deviate
in longer stretches than usual.
A momentary bliss
from a pretty purple wild weed.
An ill-advised pretense,
Like a half-act play.
Significance fails.
Reason falls short.
Misplaced, mislaid, missing.
Astray, adrift, at sea.
Start counting down
to when you ought to forget.
Hoping that come one,
All will just be gone. #
photo credit: bigkungmaster
No comments:
Post a Comment