Sinking down into
melted puddle of bubbles,
dripping, sliding, we all fall down.
Ionize, acclimatize, get back up again!
The words are gone,
the game is up;
Not all gifts come with endless batteries.
A film across the cells, see lines and
curved like bells, ring aloud, sing alone.
Their rage is not red, but pink,
mine happens to be purple, not blue.
Time runs, reach out and catch it,
one second, hold my Pepsi;
I’ll do you one better.
Two tons of words, in two tones.
In literature we call that misspelling a word,
but in poetry we call it opportunity.
There are no rules here,
not now, of all times. Rule’s need not;
I don’t even know. Seems like I write most of these while half asleep. If you can find meaning in it, please tell me. If not, enjoy the nonsense anyway!