Write: wrong or left.
Wrong or left. I wrote.
The ramblings of a so called addled brain.
Controlled by medication not to go insane.
You have good looks and knowledge deep.
Counts for nothing when you’re asleep.
Certain that there’s no perfection. Things seem mundane.
In the absence of this, there’s a aroma so sweet. These things from the void light up his face. The light, the everlasting glow. The love, the fountain of original gifts.
So remember Miss, when he approaches the lamppost, he cannot decide which way to walk around. He’s stood, just waiting.