If you take a book into a forest.. Will the trees cry?
Their friends have been pulped, and reformed into this monstrosity ,which I hold in my hand.
A vessel for trite human emotion.
Gratuitously I read poetry for the fallen, walking among them.
A pulped heart, a forlorn life, vandalized with human desire.
That vile self-awareness leading us to modernity.
Will the trees like jokes?
I’ll read them some jokes on my next forest walk.
My forest walks really cheer me up.
Why not join in and leave a comment.
Why not ask me a silly question?
Even if it isn’t silly I am sure my answer will be.
For the amateur killer, one is the loneliest number