Quaint.

Don't be a saint.
Have an earthquake?
What a lake
for goodness sake.

Stop being so quaint.
You lazy piece of
cake.

What have I left to say?
Nothing more where you left
this ache.

Oh. These swollen days,
full of mischief and blank
stares.

Leave the past in a book,
lightly dusted with broken promises.
This message is no longer conforming
to the conformity theme.

So let me be,
in my own little quaint world.
With no history.