Bubble Tea

I lifted my spirits to the ceiling, with a bit of bubble tea,
Then raised my glass to host the finest toast to my airborne friends, as they sky sailed over seas. I felt alone, in hopes that they would return, sometime before noon.
With no luck, I found my myself stuck in sticky thoughts that were beginning to bloom.

I filled my bathtub to the brim, and watch the waterfall.
Somewhere in the front of my mind, I didn’t mind at all.
The level carried me higher, and the current carried me west,
My house had begin to flood, and I grinned,
It was all for the best.

The bedroom shades had peeled from the wall, my bathwater stained in Technicolor.
This would be the greatest adventure, far beyond any other.
I held my nose and dived for the floor of the dining room hall,
That’s when I noticed my paintings were varnished,
and the underwater scenery had torn away from the coral walls.

The school of fish led me to their classroom of china plates and silverware,
The entire trip was far too classy for someone of my affair.
I swam past the guest bedroom door complete with a couch, dresser, and sewing machine,
Until I noticed the couple of scuba divers jumping merrily upon my trampoline.

Boy, the wonders of grandmother’s bubble tea.

Seventeen Years

Hold those thoughts tight, maiden.
Those white gloved hands must be clean.
Step by step, continue your act.
Though, careful not to cause a scene.
The crowd knows better, they see the truth in those tears.
You're playing it nicely, but he hasn't seen you smile in seventeen years.

When curtains call, we ask that you rehearse your acts.
Our technical difficulties have caused us to skip one too many tracks.
The audience is lost, our storyline as far since been thrown.
Into the seats, where the hunger will linger, where the director may feel most alone.
Your book was laying open, center stage.
Removing the collected dust from the surface, I read the words printed with age.
Then gently, I pressed the pen, and gathered my words.
And created a new page.