Pink and Discomforts

You know, I could be Kipling channel a fancy humoring tale have all of you begging of lyrics more gracious such as this, a mystic masterpiece made for this generation Come on, dabble me with praise put a paint brush upon me and color me into a canvas a canvas of royalty, a canvas of prestige a canvas to make even Queen Elizabeth green with envy just be sure to make me grey cause I'm a liar today I'm just me, I don't want to be some cheap imitation I just want to be me don't mind my comedic twist at making this a one man show I'm just venting frustrations no one cares to know Try as I can, try as I might I will not set up this rhyme tonight To tear down this whole work I only constructed minutes before I'm tempted to it's not my best, it makes no sense I can do better, I can do better just give me a chance to tear apart the blank pages in my mind with scattered thoughts scrawled upon the edges I'm so very tempted they mirror nothing, nothing at all profanity has more creativity in its uses than I have in my own voice except naming every line from songs I heard last Halloween and there goes one now My love for Blue October exudes me my muse has eluded me I'd say her name but she's not the same the way we talk, the way we connect dead silent she's an entire universe and I, once Pluto, so far from the sun once a planet, now mistaken for a moon too far away from my orbit I could build a rocket ship back to her dimension but that would take eons, millenniums in theory though I only have years at best before she pursues the start of her dreams in a distant country across the universe far away from me Just like all the rest... just like all the rest... I find myself staring at my hands wishing they were smaller for my hands are too big, catching too many people when they fall though I curse myself for having such short arms to not be able to hold on long enough to everyone I've caught like I'm on a crashing plane, nose diving into the ocean and to make a glorious escape all my pink dominoes release their parachutes as they jump but I'm not quick enough to see the only parachute left on this flight was never meant for me Why is it always me am I cursed, am I...am I... Why is it my heart that always commits the folly? to fall for a garden with too much water to fall for a garden over-bloomed a rose by any other name would sound just as sweet but roses have thorns with aromas that can wound so why now do I choose to lay in a garden of pink and discomforts..