Branches and leaves snatch at my clothes and wind murmurs in my ear.
The grass yearns to clinch my feet, making me trip.
Fresh cigarette butt sputters its last breath of nicotine that makes its way into my sinuses.
I can taste the smell of it, awful, like no food I’ve ever eaten.
The cold feel of water as dew is noticed balancing on plants.
Nature tastes fresh, like my style.
The scene is at peace, like the world should be coming from the mocked thoughts of a Miss America contestant, looking suptuous, flashing painted smiles in an outfit made of floss.
The beauty of neighborhood nature wasn’t matched to hers.
A new focus; well, neither was I.
Imitating the unreal, I shnouzle my hair in the mirror.
Provide me with bullets because my curl went jagged too late.
Today is a gift, for that is why it is called the present.
Butts dampening the beauty of Eden like the golden plaits of a beauty queen.