I find myself amidst

fond farewells, and

neirdowells…

I take a sip from the

Goblet of Life only to

find it laced with coffee

and strife.

I hate coffee, I always

have found it revolting,

well at least not something

worth extolling.

Only that's just my taste,

to be certain.

Who closed the window with

the paisely curtain?

Why must my poetry always

represent complexity?

When all I truely am is simplicity?

I grow weary of this venture.

I await rapture in the splendor.

"Aspertaime Doesn't Contain Aspirin"