i am becoming prolific.

why won’t she talk to me?
why cant she speak?
is she so meek?
or is this quite bleak?

im telling a tale
that ive never experienced
im creating a synopses
of what i expect to happen

but that’s all uncertain,
and beneath these curtains
the shadow of shame
dangles romantically
within red velvet rapids
and shiny gold tassles

this stage is a castle
and my arms are unfolded
and im sitting so perfectly
alone in a corner

but im speaking with friends
through cracks in the wall
my morse code notions
tapped into existance
with pebbles and stones
and commoners bones

i sit in a class
i am taught something else
i’m off on a whim
i delicately swim
into your room
i sit on a spoon
and soak in the milk
the cream and silk
curdle before me.

its all so silly.