Rolling along
Feeling forlorn
But not quite boring
Exhausted from the exchange
Tired from the range
Of emotion tapped into to distance you
From my anger you must remember
So much time we’ve rendered
So much surrendered
Replaced with ire all that was fire
Man I am tired
On the train he tries to buy my pain
With trinkets and flowers
The taste is sour from the scowler that seems to be forever on your face.
Happiness for you seems to be when I’m provoked.
But wisdom keeps me calm as we Move along to tired to cry to tired to shy.
I’m good with games “invention” is one of my names.
Plum Pots ahead... 