Sir, if I edit this story I shall surely die
Do you not see it’s need to be spontaneous and free?
These words are whispered to me and they need to go somewhere
They are seeds unplanted and tossed to the air
Cute and vicious yet so full of despair that you would laugh if only you stopped to care
I let them feed off of me long enough. There are two on my hips and an unplanned hump
A few more race down my cheek. My tears taste sweet