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Michelle Apr 2016
Forget me not—
You've become the cotton in my ears,
the smoke in my lungs,
the tepid water that I'm drowning in

Forget me not—
You can't make a difference in someone's life,
then leave without at least saying goodbye
I just need a goodbye

Forget me not—
Sleepless nights and forgotten meals are my
new lovers as of late, but I suppose
we're quite familiar with each other already

Forget me not—
Why can't I make nothing of it?
I was nothing for you
We were nothing

Forget me not—

Forget me
4/30/2016
the first night i saw you,
i thought you were the one
who i can trust to
cast the memory charm on me.

i've been waiting for so long
to see the green light,
it made me blind.

the first night we talked,
i thought you can erase it —
worries, anxieties, and the voices
inside my head.

boy, i was wrong.
i should've learned occlumency
for you are one legillimens.
Ashley Sep 2013
in life,
where do you dream to go?
is it nashville,
new york city,
or maybe tokyo?

where will your heart
lead you towards?
out of my life,
through wide open doors?

how long before
i see you again?
wednesday,
next year
towards the end?

will you remember me
in ten years, twenty?
when there are crinkles
by your eyes,
or when there's gray hair aplenty?

one thing is for sure,
i could never forget you.
not tomorow,
not ever,
not even when i'm eighty-two.

but if you forget me,
i won't hold a grudge;
because life is too short
for you to trudge
through old, forgotten faces
and memories long buried,
or to revisit old races
that you've already won.

i don't ask you to remember
my visage, my dreams,
let alone my name.
just please remember
my voice, and dancing
in the rain.
wordvango Oct 2014
postulate carnivals festivities ferris wheels unicorns
tooting horns laughs squeals of carnivorous
joviality held breath heights scary games of chance
winning all today
it is our day
to  populate reality
with
fairy tales or obliviate insanity send notice
from highs cry together deny no more the obvious
sobriety holding in that hit wary of getting caught
losing it all
so say with me
I believe
in fairy tales
Eve Apr 2023
You said that my words were bitter
You said my tone sounded harsh
As if I was on a mission to hurt you
As if I'm the villain in this story.

It hurts that you can't see right through me
It really hurts that you look, but you can't see me
I truly thought we were better than this...
I thought we knew each other better than this.

My words may have been bitter and my tone harsh
But it's only because contradiction spells my heart
I want to hate you, eradicate you from my life
I want you to come back to me and love me until I die.

I don't know what to do anymore, I can't ignore you
I can't not see you, to not feel you, to not breathe you.
Obliviate what ruined us? If only you were willing to try.
What do I do? God, why do I pine for someone like you?

If only you could see all these words meant for you
Would you then be able to see me, not think I'm harsh?
Would it make you pity me or give you the courage to try?
to try for this bitter girl who was once just on a mission to love you until the day she dies.

-fir.m
Amaris Jul 2019
She sways in time
To the beat in her brain
Rejecting the irregular tempo of her heart
Blinking twice to clear the glare
She stumbles once, again, and again
Reaching for someone
Who isn't there.
She wants
To forget for the night, blur into the lights
Drowning herself to blissful heights
Julian Nov 2016
Palimpset prowling on the husk of beleaguered Rome
Aflame from Nero’s tenuous but tenable throne
Swiftly spoken with a singed hourglass and whispered sand
Crafty spacecraft are majestic more than 100 grand
Morpheus enlists the denuded Agent Smith
To swarm the battalions of celebrities that possess and trip
Upon the threaded needle of threadbare convention of betokened appreciation
Every rapport and every fleet dives beneath plumbable detection
So neutered brain damage became a rummaged adage
That too many whack-a-moles are sutured beyond the crisp package
Whet the craven set and propagate waves of earthquakes that strut
The mother of nature is ******* when profligate danger is a defamed ****
So in amphigory and honesty I have become the omphalos of sincerity
I arm myself with brandished personage and speak openly with great integrity
But to brag of how much witchcraft and wizardry exists in this green village
Is to invite a locust swarm of bad mascots and misnomers readily pillaged
So warm with the dawning sun, writhe with the diurnal pun
Cloister the Kloosters and Clooneys with dreaded Harry Dunne
But to relapse into the purview of insanity seems beyond the most lame duck profanity
Because reality conflated with virtual presence is a tantamount inanity
I emerge strong and gilded with every fluttered birds chavish splurge
As magnates that magnetize wealth and glitz are present and observed
But yet they are disbelieved by the concealment of truth and the obfuscation of beleaguered doubt
Swank and squalor rarely combine but when they do they obliviate all winning streaks in a route
A route that spans the gamut between stimulants and stimulations
A career path that looks upward at gainsay and gained elations
The sprawl of profiteers like me will be requited with the passage of years
The forced segregation is the totality of malfeasance and the sum of none of any fears
Only the rebarbative consequence of the giant tortoise and its Vuvuzela cheers
In a degraded state of annoyance that ESP conquers doubt with bionic ears
Lisp on the curb, wretched on the stomp, racism is nothing but masqueraded insecurity poised as self-doubt
Debited to each creation on a variegated piebald wrinkle on an extended litany of lies
Crips and Bloods become Croods and Oilers that are so U.N.-refined as an expedient for wise demise
To scourge the requisite harm of religions endangered by a patchwork of State Farm
To rinse the sour sins of aboriginal boomerangs that switch a bit patchy but always charm
To the knowledge of good and evil we have found again a permissible fruit in an opportune time
That erasure of the reverse course of sin to righteousness finds sublime
But Judah and Israel rebelled on principles and principals
Idolatry in schools is expulsion of nothing other than the voguish dismissible
We recrudesce in this time to an aborning erratum on a parchment of time
That claims hypocrisy in its stodgy restriction of suburban muses crooning originality on wine
Serendipity floods the proud with the avarice of bricolage clamor excessively loud
It extorts the simpleton to belief without understanding or disbelief without doubt
Return to the Jedi of the nomadic tribe of weathered clout
Clippers that sail and sprint through time where stragglers pout
For in every endeavor of this corporate oligarchy our choices are constrained
Our voices are transmuted into simplicities that own our narratives of a raillery train
And every squeal of rustbelt friction is voiced on simplistic fiction
And every majesty is unheard because of the pollution of abrasive friction
So I speak with the scourge of fish and the novelty of clones
I teach and desist sometimes because my eyes were never affixed to any throne
But I am reminded that a rap sheet is Wrigley and Chicago is Piccadilly
Your guess is as good as mine about where a Grand Elect Knight begins really
So to the insurrection of idolatry of a scarred past we have a supplanted Friday blacker that **** and smog until we need gas masks
Such a salesmanship is required to penetrate the desired, even when Iron Man and I are simultaneously wired
On the Iron in the Front Seat that derelicts the panache of the proud intellect because of languor fired
Women titillate themselves on the jeers of hollowed husks of conformity
They intrude with persnickety restive restriction because of arrogated authority
Such a negative bear must mean a positive bull, but **** is easy and blips are cool
That RADAR’s WHIP detection scrawls a deadened earth deracinated from considerations of thinness and girth
The Dickens of Charlie Brown is worth more than just a single smirk
So to those women that skimp on my exultant smile and my delicate words
Lady Gaga has written too many songs about your personal rejection which is patently absurd
Rays of thespian cordiality winnow the borderline between flicks and literary finds
Directors and directives sort an assortment of philosophies in the alcoves to which many are blind
But if to hear the chatter of a fresh tomato never spattered
Pallor and weight, thickness and cheddar grate, inconsequential when you are elite and of a winning fate
So finally ditch your zany attempt to maroon me as a victim of puritanism’s puny ideals easiest to conflate
I have the winning brand and proper package to balance the Libra Scale weight and wait
To those dismissive urchins of passive standards it is finally time to consider and deliver on that luscious date
Marsha Mar 2020
I write your name on my cigarette, light it up, and smoke it away.
I fill my lungs with nicotine,
I taste the burn in my throat,
as I try to erase every memory of you.
I want to forget your eyes, your lips, your scent,
erase every **** thing about you, and cleanse my mind.
I take one deep, long drag,
and smoke all thoughts of you away.
Ken Pepiton Feb 2023
You can say that again, later, it is -time
lace up the daily bag and pass it
for all private interpretation
removal, from the rumen, to the next
- gaseous we, Huxley called us, 1957

No, this ain't show business, this
is living, made in a made up mind,
being finished doing, just
living.

Making up reasons to dispute liars.

Maybe not a good living, but it's free.
Or paid for, any way.
Bought with a price
my grands won't be forced to pay.
- divided attention makes
- ads obliviate into the mercantile
- classification, in attention econ 101
It's free - this living
in the way well fed children do,
in America, outside the cities;

Joy pursued and grabbed in happy
fistfuls that fill laughing memory bubbles
to store for when these become
the olden days.

No, this ain't show business,
its sacred duty,
work of a thing,
made from a boy who looks
into flies eyes, gazing up
from the bottom of the cup,
a little glazed, perhaps,

owing the fly an easy escape, look away

Tricae,
tricae
"perplexities, hindrances, toys, tricks,"

The collections of thoughts,
the access to held thoughts, knotted
messages
to you
private moments,
time alone, as a mortal human being,
humus built, auto-repairing thing being

being, eh?
One-like, only, or
on-like, only going on and on and on,

becoming fruitful
becoming useful
becoming less and less useful, but
becoming more and more curious
becoming full enough to become superfluous.

Lay preachers can create cushions
for lazy wishers wishing to be comforted,
but the weighing of the worth of comfort,

lay preachers seldom do, to my knowledge.

Terminus gnosis, all I know, my bubble of knowns;
this is it…
a thousand stacks of sensible lines, atop precepts,

strewn beside the trail.
Heavy
heuristic heretical how-to do as I dones,
published by faith in the thousands, litter
the little hills the psalmist asked,
why they writhed and twisted,
as in a dance of anger wishing,

clear channel, me and the truth, today,
just/instance, this/ now.

Free am I, by the faith in me, but you
already
knew that,

don't you?
Don't you know, there is a musing mind,
we wear to bed, some nights,
we lay on memory foam, some nights.

Thinking sorted thoughts, untying lying links,
links to educated guesses fed you as new reasons

to be ever vigilant, ever ready to defend the faith,
the laughing faith of a child, leaping
into the sky

- my grandson, I just learned,
- asked for more math.

No class common man, that is what I am,
on the cusp of next, looking back,
at the mess I left, like a cyclone,
randomly distributing seeds of kindness, specs
by which an idle word can activate troves
of ancient autoresponders, each guessing
what if, what if not,
what if, what if not,
what if, what
if
not now, when. Pop.
Bubbles of been, leave go, go on, think it

through, and passed through, into
the now
where we formed, letters, letting words wait,
sit still, ready
for the reader, ready
to steady the quivering fearful thing,
lost in thought,
stuck in stacks of holy orders, hearer only,
only ordainded doers do the trick,
intricate, folding to make not a paper swan,

too, easy. Make a protein. With no model,
just the idea in the word applied to science,
proper pose, super knowing, proto-life-ish thing,
that is digestible using an infantile nourishing node.

What tricks do you know?, the magi aske Moshe.
Snake from a staff.

From the crozier of goatherd, sure,
we can all do that. What else?
---
Allusions to ever knowing, knowing as old
as knowledge given girls at their flowering,
as old a mystery as any orphaned mother may tell
her great grand daughters,
nobody told me any thing,

but I took it as normal,

As the patient potency prefecting
effectual
fervent
prayer, dramatized, made big as all
art
any
bubbled artifice holding essences,

essential bits of the daily grind to gloss
the leading intellect's reason for being
so shiny,
Klimt golden, as that one kiss I recall,

yes, a facsimile, a memory evocation,

a kiss, golden in that moment, infected
with a feeling
dramatized to be offered to all who see,
intricacies,
khipu twists and loops and bundles and beads,

accounting for dues,
instructing kaballah, pass it on

Excuse me, are you in the right realm,
we feel pluralized,
but you don't fit,
we are uniform,
uninformed,

excathedra, listen up, all eight billion now living, are destined
for certain death,
it is a matter of time, dying once,
can happen anytime,

and if there is a second death, so far,
I never saw any body do it twice,
once truth makes what I am free,
we stay free,
amen,
reception accepted kaballah, et al,
take that greasy grace, feel it,
as the oil ran down Aaron's beard,

and there were no poor denied
starship rations,
until the comet hit and all
but a single mind
blew, into this
a complete fiction,
or another compleat guide to fishing

Imagine the magic of the sailor's accounting book,
envision the magic of levers, and pulleys and cogged
wheels feeling the weight

ping
2023 Gravity driven or gravity powered, is it
one
or the other, when it come be to inspire
first fears
to frame wisdom pools,
at depths we learn
to believe,
prove each participant,
worthy of keeping,
the secret.
Salt of the earth, deep down dehr dat
Caribbean Sea,
shore line fracture,
follow the riverwise road,
any thing you think you must bear,
don't blame,
sometimes it pays, to bend.
Grasshopper Locust practice, for the mind
of an ant.

Wisdom harnessed the fear of God,
put it down,
in other words,
when there was nothing
but E, mass and time being assent
esse, sentient, in sentient and ex
insentience, sapient over lay,
- honeycomb tripe pattern, say
- why not ruminate enclosed
- in a beauteous inner digestive
- recluse-exclusive-sub-science con
ified, tied ligously, fi,
to witty means, and ways we prove
gravity is our friend, driven power for all life,
strong as earth itself, but, we are

in the burning phase,
let me bring you down,
cause being accused, does that
to a stranger
being
entertained, or entertaining, on an aitia
let me
reason,

have you come for more, or do we have
too much
of too many things
to make too much
sense
of any particular reader/writer ifery algorithm,
if then,
else is this, current, slow, nodding, flux,
capacitance
loading axially,
if each mind thinks right once,
today, we have enough,
let's save the world.
- that easy, eh?
global restoration, Christ, yes,
that is the plan.
As the planet was.
Prior to Peleg's days.
Intended to have a single
dry land mass,
Wisdom pushed
for plates meeting
and using ice
at the top
of the world, as seen polaris up,
spinning
in a slow wobble
through four
seasonal positional hot-cool-cold-warm
gyre drivers, saline liquid epicycles, sisters
of the four winds
as a flywheel effect
in the telling times… a little imbalence leaning helps
with the wobble,
in the event,
slim to none,
the odds, but,
Don't Look Up. It could
reoccur, and shall, if
Nietzsche's epicycle

has wheels. Graham Hancock, on clocks…cosmic

Mindspacetime, the elite flight,
secretshitistic, it is, most certain, it is
fantasmic imagining
E not equal any thing, mere words
-jello-timingoooisht
between me and thee,
no point, not one, between the we
we become,
in the final analysis, if you wish,

might
you wish,
long, lazy river readers, re-mind
their lost selves, how innocense felt.

The worth of an unsold story, given
as a gift, as a poor artist might
attempt
a portrait
of their daughter's children

- "that little thing"
Done. As best he could, he believed,
at the time,
as it is
with
everything being as is when we arrive,
we adapt
or become the insane opposition,
to anything,
just
be the counter weight on the pendulum,

keep things swingin'

feel time slide
into the real deal,
at the crossroads
in the wayback seat,
sayin' honey, you ain't here
after what I'm here after,
y'gonna be there, after I'm gone, as  asong
that was
once a joke ended you gonnabe here
after I'm gone, but

seemsayin' eye
squint, see,
way back
when,
we were otherwise involved, affirming
sacred oathes, we swore as children learn
IT being life, whatever,
it don't mean
nothin'
is not a joke, it's ahint, to readers, ready
writing is key to reading,
vertical eyed
qwerty keying is learned,
phone wide,
natural, feels familiar
style adaptation
as cuneiform once was,
years of hearing the same words,
said and resaid, story after story stacked
in
time, measured by stargazers, called, by god,
eyes like eagles, these minds expand, and see
the order of the cosmos,
and the chaos of the collective sub-science

locked by a generational curse on oathes
under the God those kids had in mind,
September, 1954, first day of school,
all across the Wyatt Earp of Nations,
each child not religiously exempted,
stood, right
hand on heart and repeated, as a national
student body, K through 12, a pledge,
local time 9 a.m. nationwide,
not unlike
a true Tenant's pledge of fealty,
as recorded in
The Compleat English Copyholder:
Common and Statute LAW of
England, relating to Manors
and Lords of Manors Et c.
- buzz nod what instance… seven seconds
Sorry, Under God, was added to the pledge
that year, that affectionizes those exposed,
we meander under god, think it not strange.
It’s a legendary trait, we'll all be remembered a bit.
- default modemod is always beguiling temptation
- for temptation sake, win a game, get the rush.
of chasing hares
to where the conies hide,
feeble folk, but they live among big rocks,
reason enough,
use what you know is right,
hide from things that eat you,
that evolves
in nations
with no elders, constant defence mode
peace makers seem
feeble folk,
who knew,
and fell away, impossible to renew,

whoah, zeke play me that riddle,
'bout scrublands being humbly blissed
so long- wayback, anchoring the authority
17
that's me, I
fiddled around
and blew the clearwater revival
to kingdom come, Muddy Waters, aight
and there was hippies, ever whar, swanee,
so I do, I swan no no no no mo
lie like the devil for the sake of church heritage,
holy warrior sworn, heart torn, tears shed, tongues
spoken.
You know, when gravity is taken
in, your weight, sunk
into the reasoning
swung wide
in progress, no aim, past the cloud,
for crying out loud, this is louder than ever,
listen, no
silence
all that
noise, is natural
to persons genitivally, ok, cross
shadowed animus anima imitation,
in your cultural genes, cowgirl
seeing the world a yingyang thang,
with gravity and the E-magnetic shields
allowing systems to com-uni-cate locally,

scarey
indeed

too much,
the scope
of any thing one might think
or ask,
as in what was that rule
of LAW once?
I read
Compleat Fisherman's Guide U recall led
to , yes, The Compleat English Copyholder:
Common and Statute LAW of
England, relating to Manors
and Lords of Manors Et c.
is on Google books, masterfully typeset

Feel free to learn all you will, 'tis all in the Common.

as, by now is much that may have been, otherwise,
in needier times,
less riches, more sorrow,
less sorrows, more riches, peace.

Made that my after all battlefield task,
no mas win or lose.

My side, on the scalar models is gravity empowered,
heavyweight, ancient concept,
gradient slopes
with long lazy loops
on the downhill side,
listening
to kids make all the noise they wish,
two chalk walls away,
in the bubble we all breathe.

To this day, whatever it took, it worked.
Life gets as good as you can make up a mind

to accept, as
this is it,
this is my bit. My close up. To the exact point
where I breathed that bubblierised wedom-opinion

opinion opinion opinion okeh, settle years ago, okay
we all say okeh here, holy ground,
entire collection of recollection on that victory alone.

Okeh, is still the proto voice model, ok.
If you like it, I'd love if you shared it in whole or in part, it is a whole chapter in a novel form of literature, native to the internet age,
type set for vertical receivers
Willobi Kome Apr 2018
Beclouded by your thoughts
I'm sitted in the darkness of love
Should I go
Or should I not ?

This state of discombobulation
Keeps me wandering with no destination
I try to obliviate
But my heart still aches

It bleeds like an uncontrollable river flow that has no terminus
Now its just me..no "us"
The truth of our love is now false

I'm lost
Trying to find my way out of depression
I scream for help
No one hears

Its just the voices in my head
But none seems to be yours
Now buried and gone is my trust

When you were needed, you never showed up
Well ,I guess your time is up
And my love is finally lost .
R Arora Sep 2017
"With your tiny drops,
Can you obliviate my memory?"
I ask the rain;
I am scared of the happy ones,
For I know,
I can never live them again.
When the blues hit.
Willobi Kome Apr 2018
With a burning desire
The hearts of men are pervaded with doubts
About what their future seems like
Decisions they take appears to be right
But things still don't work out

They're bewildered by the nature of life ,
What they don't understand is that the time isn't right
They try and try but it all goes into the sky

They wonder where the problem protudes from
But the fact is ,"Men only want to acquire
But they obliviate to inquire"
Grey mirror Oct 2017
Obliviate me of my past memory
The only Ghost that haunts me.
It comes around the end of fall
With an iron scythe
and frozen shackles
Run chills down my bones.
A dark shadow stands tall,
blinds the path I hope to follow
Leaves me empty and shallow
With no hope for tomorrow.
Happy Halloween.
Max Sep 2017
My country and your country....
I don’t know what's that.....
I just know it's our world...
So let's end up wars and fights...

Everyday people are diying.....
Oh! Chidlren are turing orphans and all are wailing and crying....
But what is the media and government trying...
Only they make two countries wars to be multiplied...


Is  it my India Or is it my Pakistan!

No one knows Diwali as Ali and Ramdam has Ram...
It's all what they know is to use their arms...
With money and muscle power polish up their charm...
But never know during their revolts thousands are harmed...



Is it my India Or is it my Pakistan.....
We have made to learn Pakistanis are bad...
But during-"All Indians are my brothers and sisters" I feel quite sad....
Leave for it we know once India and Pakistan were united.....
But seriously what was the reason for being divided....


Youth just open up your eyes...
I know it's a tough journey but we need to give it a try......
Only we can make the dead's families tears dry.....


Wake up now or you will lose.....
I know the only correct path you will choose....


At last let's bring back India and Pakistan in their correct order.....
And obliviate racism and borders.........
I long to write of shimmering translucence
Of gentle thoughts with gossamer wings
That float above breeze rippled fields of serenity.

But what comes from my pen is how to bake a cake
And what I see through ***** windows.

I long to write of Hollyhocks and Jasmine,
Of exquisite Orchids blooming in exotic places
That suddenly appear to delight the passing eye.

But what grows from my pen are Dandelions
And vast fields of very common Clover.

I long to plumb the depths of human spirit
Searching for the essence of that magic thing called soul
To set it free in glorious transcendence

But my pen spits out confusion not perception

And it maps a path that only goes in circles.

I long to create music from the written word
To build crescendos that fade into lullabies
And obliviate the need for language.

But what thunders from my pen is mostly noise
Without a beat and lacking any melody.

I long to write the words that cause the world to cry-
That opens them to vistas that were hidden
And shows them landscapes of a better place to be.

But my pen seems locked In every-dayness
And I can only write up what I long to do
And blur the words with wistful tears.
ljm
Written before I went on vacation.
Seth Milliman Dec 2015
You are no more causistic,
Than you are toxic.
The memories of you smeared on my wall,
Breaching more than wanted.
But here again we arrive at the fall,
Tumbling in this dark motioned state.
Oblivious to obliviate,
This mind sacked wrench.
Tossed back and forth,
Coming back to again question.
Why?
Why?
Why?
I ignore one voice for another,
In order to reach an assumed bright side.
But this the tumbling over,
Has left me on my side.
I no longer want this thought process,
It reaches nor teaches on a better plain.
The choice again to start over,
Has come again to drive me insane.
Elyzabeth Rose Apr 2017
me i am. the me who i never was anymore. no more. no. not since we parted. the me i was, left with you, died with you. me i am, a hollow cage of memories, of journeys of lost.
there are days when the me i was comes in glimpses, in flashes. she cries and laughs, and hurt and bleed and dies. the me i was, hurting, longing, still lost and finding.
the me i am, now hollow, still looking, still lost. now empty, still blue, still nothing, not new. though no longer does she cry. move so moving.
the me i am, maybe is the me i was. maybe is the me i never was anymore. just no you, just lonely and empty. obliviate and blue.
-elixir- Aug 2020
The lonely child waits,
For her parents with a lolly
In her hand.
As she can't wait to play with papa
And bake cookies with mama.
She asks why they are asleep
to her uncle.
As he watches their bodies lower
Into the soil with tears that roll
Down his face, as he hugs her close,
to obliviate her future despair
Mrigangkhi Jun 2018
Spellbound I stand
In front of your steady eyes
Surrounded by souls hoping to get a grip on their lives
Puissance radiating from your lifeless skin
Is enough to obliviate our so many sins
Folded hands and ceaseless chants march towards your superior land
Can't you see there's chaos all around
Just to get a handful of your holy ground
'cause mortals believe you are the only hope
When the light dies away and there lives no scope
 Is this who we really are
Begging for mercy and forging scars
You,the creator ,shaped a creation
Blinded by superstitions, divided by nations
Where humanity is silent and cruelty speaks loud
To even those who can't hear a single sound
Thus,I pray to you, my dear God
Don't let us be ruled by the devil with an iron rod,
 Instead,tell us where can you be found?
 With nothing left except love to bound.
This is my first shot at something new.. Hope you feel it.
BB Tyler Jul 2019
a challenge ought not be taken as a sign to give up
a challenge ought not be taken
yes!
i will say
that it comes to all
time/place/space  depending

validate yourself
against the tides that are
monetary
and
counting down
to an end

and obliviate
the yoke is the gold
and gold is easily
bent
Sometimes Starr May 2023
Wax on our fingertips,
Glitter on your cheeks.

What's it like to be you?

We were in a cardboard box in the backyard,
In between the autumn leaves

The smell of construction paper
And sticks of glue.

I wondered alone,
What's it like to be you?

It's pink and it's blue.

Your bones are so slight,
And mine are just plain.

At first an aversion
Now the spike of my brain.

I don't know why I want to kiss you,
I just do.

But what's it like to be you?

Passions thrummed inside my veins
One of trillions wondering things
Then suddenly you culminate
And like a feather you float within my fate
Lost in my pupils, they dilate.

And suddenly, I know what it's like to be you.

I put on the cat ears and do my thing.

I cut my skin,
I show up late.

I killed myself for Babs and Kate.

The stuttered monologuing State.

The emo kid without a shape
My personality, obliviate
The 29 year old I macerate

That's okay, I hate this poem,
That's okay
I hate this poem
That's okay
I hate this poem
That's okay
That's okay

That'******>

— The End —