>Paradox

>

Scented air,
Plush leather seats,
Sunglasses
Perched
Carefully
On his head.
Music playing
Softly
In the background.
He reigns
Supreme
In the air-conditioned
Comfort
Of his car.

Beads of sweat trickle
Slowly
Down her neck.
Elbows
Digging
Into her back.
Jostled,
Pushed,
Pummeled
By the commuters.
Clutching onto
The handrail,
She gazes
At him
With

Resent.



To ******.

You probably will never read this, but here’s hoping you find your eternal jag someday. If there’s anyone who deserves it, it’s you.

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6 thoughts on “>Paradox

  1. >ahgood ol’ poetry straight from the gutters (:heheI’m listening to the gutterflower album :Dthought I’d browse through your archives whilst listeninghehe

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