Grazing follies, falling foolishly before me.
Accepting, I foolishly fail me.
Solar Plexus, perception, a “could be.”
What we want, not always our reality.
Our truth more dynamic than our dreams.
Yet we thrive off of the lies of fantasies.
Without you there’s no me, now we’re both deceased.
Grazing follies don’t warm beds, they fill vacancies.
Get numb to be done,
wash, rinse, and repeat.
…for the art of it