almost 6 months.
i can’t hide the fact. it’s none of my business to reality.
i told her it’s depressing at home, without pizza, my own.
if panic stalks, i’m neglecting the gravy sauce.
i cannot even comprehend myself. constricted, i’m far off free.
Where the plate is, this mouth.
I can’t think straight.
Reblogged this on chester maynes.
hmmm.. i kept thinking the food might allude to something else, but I just think it’s kind of an odd random poem, but good. 🙂
yeah Lamberta, you’re right on that…it was too random that i’ve never thought ending a title like this until i’ve finished writing and re-writing it! thanks, by the way! 🙂