The Grass Isn't Greener, It's a Pile of Steaming Shit
A poem about wishing in a symmetrical world
The Grass Isn’t Greener, It’s a Pile of Steaming Shit
I recently switched from white paper to brown with the assumption that a change in scenery would result in a change in mind and yet I still feel like most of this is a waste of trees not that we aren’t leveling the rainforests in spite of me. And I’m not planting any seeds unless they're cucumbers or money leaves both of which quench a peculiar thirst. But what they don’t tell you whether the paper is brown or black or blue is the scenery out there is the same that’s in here every seed grows and greens gets eaten, digested and turned to shit no matter where you plant you’ll end up hating the sight of it.
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