Pistachio

Sit down, and fire away,

I know it's tricky

when you're feeling low,

when you feel like your

flavour has gone

the way of a pre shelled pistachio

I know you're weighed down,

fed up with your heavy boots

laced with melancholy

notions all your own.

I do

- like sugar-

tend toward the brittle and sticky

when spun and i know

my demeanor has gone the way of a photo

left out in the sun so

I try to keep myself

in lilies and flax seeds

and what's the folly of fooling just yourself

Sit down and smoke away,

I wouldn't knock it til you're

in them shoes

and i know that our subtlety blows away

as a blush it gives way to a bruise

but seemly we'd freely pay the trade off,

a dry rot to take the weight off

and swap the boots for red shoes.