Forget me nots

Hunched, head rested on white tiles, feet firmly on heated floor
I type,
not because it feels nice, or isolates the thoughts in my brain
but because, for whatever reason, I haven't dropped by
anywhere, in any capacity, in a while
and with a style dripping in tiredness and awkward grace
I can pop a few words into the Deep
and hope they drown there, quickly,
under the weight of an ill tempered seagull
and this day will bleed into a night, and another, and another,
filled with sodomy, being a Mother, quietly humming, buzzing even,
as the garden tumbles on, as a sharp axe through monotony.
Yes, I pop by every now and again
because this life I have
is almost entirely caused by the reflection and attention I give here
and everything needs tending to,
care and respect,
once in a while.
Written by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
Author's Note
Poetry, or DUP at least is my forgetmenot. Guaranteed to self seed and come back but entirely deserving of basking in it's splendor every now and again.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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