Photograph by Dimitri_C from freeimages.com
For the want of food,
she stole a bright red apple.
Twelve lashes cut skin.
Thief. She was cast out
and did walk a lonely life,
for the want of food.
not restricted in her gut.
The heart, too, craved things.
Alone in her head –
conversations with herself.
Wanting drove her mad.
She fell on a blade.
Smiled as she bled, for there are
no wants when you’re dead.
Haiku poetry by Monochrome Nightmares and Poet Rummager
Speaking of wanting, I’ve wanted a beanie hat of frost for awhile.
I now have one, and it’s made in Canada (yay!! no sweatshops!).
To check out how cool a frosty beanie can be,
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