it won't be the end

i see a delicate untuned ivory piano a few black keys are loose and wobble they sway a bit when you press down all of the scribbles on my book pages in between the lines, around the corners always in pencil, and sometimes in pen and the chicken noodle soup left alone it's still warm, but maybe not enough but somehow still makes me feel better the fair rides that have been shut down but only after they had just been put up were they too much fun or not enough? and i am all of these things, just a bit