My pitiful struggle as a poet~ Aye, if you may.. She's pouring down coffee without the sweety called milk She's reading Murakami in chinese oh what a fatalist She's staying up late to torture the darkness of time She's checking email for fear of losing track of insane ads She's going to restroom and pulling down rolls of towelpaper as if there's no tommorrow She's kissing herself in the mirror and she looks rather gay She's wearing a wool suit and a scarf with dark hearts and cats She's cuddling a teddy bear and doubting it's sexual orientation She's hating masacre(spell right?) and adoring number one foundation She's piling up all the pieces of life like a stack of poker She's shuffling it and hoping to get mosaic of poetry She's failing and she knows she's failing and she knows she's failing And, aye, if you may.. She found the above leaves of veggies as fresh as poetry! :)~