People don’t follow the heroes, they come to you, same as the villains, and I’m done following pretty girls of all different hair varieties and a pox on 99% of politicians. Tail, Tale, Tell, maybe, I’m still thinking about my anxiety maybe.
If it wasn’t Peter, playboy, potion
to the tune of number nine or Mambo No. 5
a cape in the sun
or that slow march towards oblivion
which is everywhere or chasing some tail
Wherever men choose to wallow
and fields must be kept fallow
for years under the notion
that in or to survive
They must run
jump or swim the Stygian
Like a hero in some fairytale
you expect for me to swallow
asking why can’t I be Apollo
riding in slow motion.
I’m going to see if I’m really alive
because you won’t be the one
So don’t be forgiving then
Even if there is no one to tell
The words may sound hollow
but never again will I follow
Who?
Copyright © 2017, Will A. Bradford Jr. All rights reserved.
