Harvest

i grew fruit for you, i was inspired by the things you do
but so bruised and battered too
i’m sorry, i must’ve picked them too soon
you’re ensnared in a chasm so deep
never fleeing from their mistreats
you’ve only a wooden ladder and you’re burning it for heat and comfort
i grew fruit for you, they’re finally ripe, i know you want them too
sewn to reap; the blue moon looms
i’ve only 43 weeks till next june
but there’s a hole in my vision
it’s like a cigarette burn in a film strip
a whole in my vision
it’s like a cigarette burn
i was bored at a park of amusements
i was losing my sense of improvement
so i will rise above my pessimism
it’s ruining my life