Odd Friend

An observation on following an enigmatic fellow on Twitter whom I’ve never met.


I don’t know you,
Odd Friend.
Yet I know your thoughts;
They’re splayed on end.

You’re kind of fat,
You’re overcome.

It’s 4 a.m.
The world is baked.
You’re spewing gold,
In Lukewarm Takes.

One hundred and forty
Is all you need,
To spray your soul,
Or plant a seed.

It’s dry, it’s agony,
It’s laughs on parade.
It’s impossible wit,
The genius you’ve made.

Yet under the crust,
There’s a devil, he’s crawling
You’re assuredly down,
And inside you’re bawling.

It comes to the window.
I read and I frown.
Will someone come by?
Are you really that down?

I live in your city,
Yet I am quite far away.
I guess my one hope,
Is that you’ll win today.

The point is just this,
We just might not meet.
But a fan is pulling for you,
To stay on the street.

Because beneath the ashes,
And sarcasm and dirt,
There’s something that’s magic,
A joy and a mirth.

I trust you will find it,
But maybe, not quite.
Somehow your pain and suffering,
Have made you all right.