My inept drawing ability has left this poor butterfly gimpy.
Which brings to mind the senseless things I've wrought on innocent text.
Poor, poor words!
Bullied and wedged into ridiculous flow.
Non-palatable juices wrung from their rinds,
the delicious fruits tossed aside
anemic in meaning and over-simplified in assumption.
Perversely forced couplings
disgraced for the sake of cheap rhyme,
tossed in the middle of an insidious path
between vision and design.
Crippled and maimed before even given a chance
I crumpled the page upon which my impotence was
disgracefully displayed, as I should do
with this thing I call poem.
Because on it's way to the bin, would you believe...