My Pleasure...

When I am drowning with faulty laughter, In the evening when the lusty flowers, Scatter the icy hot fragrances, The high chair I have sat rises, Above a few inches, floats with ease, Not with grace, hours pushed with tease, My galloping heart suddenly struts, Morning duty pesters as the sick babe, Wake up with puffy brown face, Once it was bloomed as the pink rose, Just another member in the herd, Wear the ironed and starched shirt, Everything in me either starts to crumble, Or loosened due to overwork, My holly laughter continues, Until the early hours of the dawn, To battle in the field of Methodological, manipulators who need no pleasure at first.