Long haired and youthful
they invaded my interest
with bright faces unscarred
by the talons of life, reality.
My atmosphere was littered
with soft notes from Italy
beckoning a culinary mood,
but they were not sufficient
in coloring my focus elsewise
or pulling me away from the
They sat around jesting jovially
amongst tasty snippets of pizza
and shiny spots of juice,laughing.
I coughed at their fresh actions
as all nuances of appetite vacated me.
One boasted her technicolor hair,
a wig of course, as another two
swayed in mock-choreography
while the rest babbled in unison.
Watching them with adoration
and hate i realise why the elderly
are always grumpy.
Thirty odd years is not too old
I try musing to myself as the nail
gets forced deeper by knowing
it isn't of youthful range either.
What once was.
Faces without masks bob with
paintings of carefree joys, pure,
speaking their motives directly.
Their veins and lungs amuse me,
having not yet been touched
by the embrace of chemical love.
I hate them.