fickle is as fickle does and i'm cleaning out the fickle pickles that linger in my trunk because the smell is getting stale. i throw 'em out little by little. until today i realized it had all gone bad. long gone bad.
fickle equals weak-le, falling tumbling in the wind, fickle is a sad state of stinky mess freakle over your self.
if getting older means getting wiser means appreciating things for what they are
then i have to love live the path set in front of me. unlike fickle which fall prey to false images of grandeur.
those images and beings that allude leave one hanging on to an empty word a sacred past just that long gone past while present whizzes by not caring if one is hurt, insecure, meek. not waiting for your fickle pickle to stickle
then i'm reminded that fickle is inbred in a lickle where living, drinking, laughing, carrying on for society's sake loses its meaning. for the benefits are no longer reaped unless balanced in a healthy breath of sunlight that presents itself in safe clean manners. and hours of dedication. serious strength. and i tell you i've become a hermit and all i will do is create music and you tell me it's ok, every flower needs a gestation period in order to bloom.
the fickle has finally left the room.
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