I want some zest.
I want electrodes strapped to my body and turned on that my heart can skip a beat for fuckin once. Damnit. I am good. My efforts are yielding exactly what I thought they would. I am still not too content. Pity. I’m waiting. I’m waiting for life to take me by the throat and throw me to the ground. So I can rest and look up and see the pretty stars for once. I try doing it all the right way. Everything can be done more efficiently and effectively. You can always do it better: smile better, answer better, improve your tone, style, mannerisms, body language, and basic rhetoric to produce the best results for your efforts. I try real hard.
I want a flower. Yea. A fuckin flower. I want to white one with a little yellow center. And a bright green stem. And I want it in a nice little clear vase… smooth. I want it chillin in the sunlight. nah. I changed my mind. I want my little daisy in the ground. I want it in a pot. So it can grow and be strong and healthy. So I can take it with me. I want to look at my little flower and smile. Flowers make me smile. I don’t know why. Maybe past memories. Maybe I’m a fruit. But I look at their delicate beauty… the effort to grow out and up from a single seed. It reaches up. And opens it face to the sun. And it releases the most pleasing aroma.
I want a little flower for myself. Flowers. I think they remind me girls. Certain flowers. Some women aren’t so delicate as a daisy. They’re like rose bushes. I don’t know if I want a rose bush. They got issues. They’ll prick you as soon as you go to holdem. Damn roses. So nice to look at and smell. That deep and alluring erubescent shade of passion. And that scent that drives you wild. So nice to be around. Not so nice to hold and get close to. Their petals are tight and it’s like they won’t let you in.
I prefer a daisy. Their a bit more wild. Innocent. White and yellow. Pure and happy. Delicate. Slender. They are pretty. I like girls like that. Free and pure and happy and carefree. Open and innocent. They don’t need you but they want you. A flower wants to be appreciated. And I do. They want sunshine and rain and open fields. Hm
Anyway. All that flower business.
William Dare 