Green is the Colour of L'amore

 



Step above the primitive, a step below myself,
shallow journal entries always trying to be more.
Pen of the primeval never knowing what’s in store,
knowing what’s in store for yellow diction on my shelf.

Step without a trace of malice, to the point of stealth,
words are sure, advisory, from lovers I adore.
Step above the primitive, a step below myself,
shallow journal entries always trying to be more.

Friends are parasitic, and are searching for the wealth,
not of mind or body, but the color of L’amore.
They would sooner chuckle than to lift me from the floor.
Spare me the conniptions, they’re not privy to my health.
Step above the primitive, a step below myself.