What's it gonna be today?
I ruminate
as I contemplate
the plethora of oblong goodies
most the clear cut white of winter
Who said it don't snow in California?
meticulously grinding my little happymeal into sawdust
far too impatient to orally insert
for fear the effects; much too inert
But this happy meal comes with no toy
No such thing
For I am the toy
and the pills?
The pills,
THEY PLAY WITH ME.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is truly very dark and scary.