Men Are But A Distraction

Sitting in a black hole

Surrounded by own warmth

A single light 

That may or may not be mine

A distraction

An object

Hundreds of objects

Various different kinds 

Which should I choose

Which might I be allowed to have

But no

Nevermind

I am not supposed to touch the flowers

Their scent is intoxicating 

And full of bullshit

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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