Inspired by  grisser

Guests  brubearbrown
 derptacular

Poem 2: Lives Little Perks

These things that keep me upbeat is the tablet I scratch the things I see, or sometimes the things others want me to. For sometimes my memory, is, at very best, shady. Like the backdrops of a well lit room.

Sometimes my demons, I’ve splayed across the dangerous wooden floor, the nails sometimes covered in stubs of red bunny blood hinting a new cut for me to cover, on my big bear bunny feet.

Shunt I forget that the tablet tinkering on the bedside table... is...and always will be... my prized possession. For then the doorbell echo’s down the empty pits of the corridors, as I am summoned forth

****

Lives little perks are a random stranger, or a friend, coming along buzzing on the front door, calling me from my fortress sombre, calling me out from the darkness, with this sound that does echo and boom.
The livid lifeless bell rings around the halls and empty chambers in which I do not occupy, and trundle along the dangerous wooden floor, to get to that door, where which, there is a stranger to meet.

And once I get to the door, the wish of stranger’s deer from countries far apart came a knocking, knocking on my chamber door, to here I have be summoned forth.

****

On their arrival, the bear, splashed in faint orange fur, decked with eyebrows bigger than caterpillars, and attached, another muscled figure darker deeper orange latched to his paw, kissing him on the cheek
It was a good old’ friend o’ mine, one I known, one I’ve drawn on the bedside table tablet that tinkers slowly back and forth. For a thing I treasure it... of course... has seen a good old beating from my paws.

I sat the two muscled creatures onto the sofa, which under their combined weight sank elegantly, paw by paw, slid deeper into the sofa, as I fetched the bear sweating tones, not used to this heat.

****

The gorilla who followed after, wondered why the pale lit yellow lantern’s that sat on every surface, where flickering so much, it was weird to slowly move my paw through his fur, like meek.

The creature was softer that the pale yellow satin duvet splashed over by bed like a ball of digital paint, the gorilla smiled and hinted me back to the front room, turning to lick the tip of my claws

I shivered, deeply, holding off dropping of the “Special China” within my grasp, to be with them, theses two creatures who would of course want to stay a night, and away from the sun’s heat

But in my present state, I’d had to return you too the city, to explain, why a bear from Irelands Southern Shore, and the Gorilla from the Northern board ended up here on my western porch.

It all began with the terrible noises and nothing to comfort in the city, but the smell of sodium and nicotine from the floors above, it was in the simple painting of a torch.

This much brighter light than the lantern’s on the dangerous wooden floor, it was a spark, and it was a single little click, which made me think of my friends on the scorch.

I decided to “IM” a friend, I decided, this cow was no longer company, I needed a good old’ chuckle, for once...I needed visitors to the door, I needed to paws trudging along the Shakespearian style porch.

****

Lives little perks, always come true the Canadian said, his boyfriend from Ireland was visiting, and as I had drawn them once before, now I’d see them in the flesh, truly the lives biggest perk...in deeds.

That which tempers the ginger frocked fur tuft on my head and the winter white fur like snow subdued in blue shades that trickle from my muzzle, to this place, where the tablet feeds.

In which the biggest muscles swells, the biggest heartbeat is useless, although we share a different heartbeat, this tablet and I share one life, and this is where my talent breeds.

In such that all my talent is sucked from the paw tips to the screen, by mysterious technologies, and the huff and puff of oxygen to carbon dioxide, that is the way I can breathe.

****

That though I pondered all the night through, in that thought of meeting such creatures of the shores of the nights shores, the ones that were once digital masterpieces, would be under the suffice of the paws. Some say that luck is better off on paper; rather than in real life... to them I say come live my lives.

And taken out my heavy backpack filled with clothes to change to when I get out of the concrete jungles of city life, where nothing grows, the plants that thrive, are faker than some furs smiles, faker than the dirt I sieved through my paws in these potted plants, fake as the skyscraper sky knifes.