one time i just mixed words like a cake and the result was arrogrance.

WRITING LITTLE WORDS

the little words dance and groan in my mouth

silly words which serve no meaning other than sounding pleaseing to the ear of a stranger.

at some godforsaken time of midnight is when the little words are born

imagine that of thousands of bubbles being delivered  between the legs of a thesaurus,

the torn out libary pages and dog eared steals from school.

this is not a confession,

simply the beginning 

the little words are diseases of the mind

romanticizing the horrors of what should and should not be conformed or condoned

they are the leaky eyes of the last pomegranate on the rotten tree

mere words or ocillating comparisons repeating themselves until 

heaving up the result;

the out of tune piano recital,

the burnt bread.

this is not a confession

this is an illusion,

of a self pitying prince wishing himself in a castle to complain of dragons and loneliness 

these are the odd words which dance in my mouth and on my fingertips

i am no poet

i am just trying to find my way

in the upsidedown reality of  breakfast before brushing your teeth

and taking your clothes off before your shoes

these words are tunes i wish to play

this is me calming down

breathing in the words

and repeating them in my head

the traffic lights are confused whilst pigeons are the image of anarchy

i am done

the words have left me

these are not confessions

these are just words.