Periphery

Bitter and twisted, black licorice on a sunset.The chauvinists obtruded, “in misery we trust.”Succumbed in the eyes of the superficial gents,A mere doll played at most but left on loose ends. Though, mindfully, why—Why does her sweetness painfully linger?Like traces of honey persisting in a cup of espresso,Yet seen to be only complimentary alongside robustness.Continue