A sweetie pie with fire in her eyes
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The sounds of the strokes of a keyboard create a cacophony of deferred dreams amongst my colleagues. I hear the shouts that have become an inaudible blur to my mind. It is 9 a.m. and I am questioning my life’s purpose; like we all do. However, I see my superior skipping his way towards me as if he is swinging a bat and ready to strike at me like usual.
By Cadma5 years ago in Humans
Only narcissists get upset When called out on their trash I’m out here chasing my dreams And they selling me nightmares
By Cadma5 years ago in Poets
The wind blows gently through her hair. The clanking of an empty glass is always a depressing sound. The waiter impatiently asks “Ma’am, have you finally made your choice?”. Her eyes were more than brown and troubled as she looked up. It seems a hard resolution was swallowed for her to answer somberly “Can we try…Dancing Juice? It looks like a fun Sauvignon!”. Her mocking accent is either lack of elegance or trying too hard to demonstrate it. The pleased waiter leaves the woman adjusting her red and black overdressed gown. As the waiter pours her one drink she quickly grabs their wrist firmly to say “leave the bottle.”
