Sunday, April 17, 2011
12/30 one lump or two
Those people in glass houses. They drink their tea from short mugs. Earl Grey with strings attached. They have forgotten the gravity of rocks. Prefer their tea like their views watered down devoid of flavor. Stale biscuits old mentality proving you can’t take the slave owner out of master. Can’t make you bigger than the bigger that is they. Spin lies like webs of interests they are not interested in. Your truths have no place in their house of glass so thick they can only be seen through if you don’t squint. Pinky finger arched good manners crooked ties. Words disguised as fact, not meant to be taken as factual, meant to be taken with cream white washed by the new would be minority. Fear runs ramped in the house of glass the house of mixed messages. They cup their short mugs with two hands careful not to spill a drop.