Member-only story
poem
O how does obsession turn twisted
Stalked on the streets by lone drifters
Into canyons of thoughts, unfulfilled
Handsome in their banyans
Salivating from the brain stem
Gallivanting, masquerading as sane
O unstable companion
How can I count the days
Search for you in distorted forays
The debutante ball is but a brisk walk from the mall
The season has come, namely spring
Who shall cast the first stone without sin
The thought of her grants me asylum
Or just rearranged, mixed-up phylum
A hymen to cry on, intact - build a life on
Street slime for the devil’s python to slide on
Nothing is too good, and just means that you should
Nor too bad!
For spring is in the air and no ball is out of season
The tempered soul is just a short stroll
From hell’s high water even though
A protector may save her
But from the street I do creep
It’s this life she will beg me to keep
