CAP!
Dammit dammit dammit.
Why must words betray me now,
when it is to them that this must be accredited to?
My contemptuous mind tells me this is a lie.
That Pinocchio will wake up to tomorrow.
I rather a lie!
Than this blasted expectation, this dratted reputation
To live down.
How they will all be kind,
And slash my throat at nightfall.
Pity is a word for god,
Not this soul-battering intention.
But I have learnt my lesson.
Henceforth,
All pictures I paint shall be inked.
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