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pitch black god8
5 Sensory Deprivation Relevation  (Happy Birthday (Tomorrow), Will Shakespeare

I     the smell of sad

odor colorless like vodka, similar familiar sidewinder effects,
musty invasive, it has no specificity, no locale centrale, well closeted,
saddling saddlng, in place, plain sighted better to toy our lives,
pervades persists, worse lingers, impervious to sprays
and even everyone’s good literature (even Will’s)
good wishes good intentions and mood prayers
to the nearest lay god
on duty at the spiritual emergency room on weekends,

don’t think that this poem is for you; solely for the writer,
your doppelgänger doofus, your mirror’s inside hiding out place,
I, who has your sadness smell into my skin cells crept
waft woof and warp wet weft-woven
into the sad receptacles hidden in my
head’s cubbies and the palms of my tree hands-covering face

there are cures so wonderful and inexpensive but unavailable
at the local Rite Aid, though they are the right aid recoverable,
so closer than close, so close that the internist
cannot prescribe them because he must inject himself first
because the live bacteria in the antidote can kill all

this odor lays down bamboo-strong roots;
to eradicate you must dig down deep,
six feet perhaps more, with heavy earth moving equipment,
uproot at the source, follow sad always all-the-way down and the root
great god gone,
but the saddest truth
stench odor yet present

II    the taste of joy

the joy of cooking is not a gene in my litany possess,
but the buttery taste of joy I know, I know,
it’s a real princess rarity,
the hard costs of finding and keeping it,
I’ve paid endlessly and willingly pay on

the taste of joy is like presents under the tree,
shock surprises delights lives/life, customized, infectious
(except for socks, no matter how joyously exceptional),
joy to those whose buds never blossomed for its taste
readable on some one else’s, anyone’s facial expression

I think of it as the taste of fast traveling cumulus whites
upon my eyelashes blinking as they are speeding you by, but happy
for ten more behind before the evening stars takes over

the taste of joy is physical, there can be no denying,
concentrations can be found in the lips and the fingertips,
which you think of as a tandem, someone else’s on mine

but it ain’t necessarily so; the taste of joy, shared I, having submitted to others kisses carried on the wind that
found their mark and were well received,
poems from the heart
that arrive well,
as their intended is sleeping, and
as intended, as waking gifts

the taste of joy in droplet tears
when you are notified that words
you joined in holy matrimony made you cry,
because the reader did, wept for two,
the weeping of contentment released,
free at last from container confinement;
this particular taste of joy is in the  
recovery and recognition that these
are not for you,
just joy peculiar these tasted tears for whomsoever sheds them

III   the hearing of truthful

truth am told is oft served cold and hard up for the hearing,
best avoided tween noon and midnight and any time a
bathroom mirror is in the vicinity; though religious men lie
too easily; bathroom mirrors cannot; a character flaw for sure,
but the truth to be trusted is this: no one is truly contented, always there are the richer, the more famous, the employed and
someone above who has more, more burdens of a different sort,
better quality losses and pains unseen not dreamed of

truth tastes terrible and is awful sometimes noisy painful;
it hides well in the stink of sad exposed to the atmosphere when exposed it turns red humans blue

truth may set you free, free to be what are you are or truthfully
an admission of what greatness you have to release the trick is
use the correct scale, do not let the wrong sized ruler rule you,
the truth, if you hear, hear it unfiltered w/o the bias implanted
by not your people; hear your poet voice growl like a blues singer and be truthfully satisfied like no thing no person only you could hear it as you intended it be spoken

IV   touches of fantasy fantastic
secret confess: touch my fav cause when its juiced with
mental visions of what might be, it Saturday satisfies and let me weep happy smile silly and is mine all mind; yes another’s tip
has sorcerer powers of revelation
but alone by myself I yet
and flow; my hands are right sized, my arms reach around myself for so designed, and the pleasure is mine to give;
mine to take,
neither better or worse if self-administered,
touch myself anywhere anytime and fantasy over dreams wins,
rise up, touch is a language and I speak six or a hundred;
listen to the sounds of touching and be touched human

V  insights for the sightless

at last we close the deprived
with an elegant elevation
sight overrated when imagination exists,
cannot be restrained
this the revelation
you have proffered and preferred all this time

have pity on me
I crystallize the unseen with the replacements
of my conjuring
the other senses lend a hand
telling me look up look up, be life save life
let your madness blossom in the spring airs,
the coolness of a first fingered ungloved snow
a mathematical function from the other four derived,
sightless an impossibility for with one alone defeat the
sensory deprivation and give tongues to words


read my face
incapable of,
but now how now bow my head to Will
for teaching the way of words traced upon
a simple man’s tongue
so that he may sense
all the better,
for the betterment
Zach Rourke
We will never meet
I could tell you were smiling under your scarf
I wanted to ask what you were reading
some French book I will never understand
just like you
I imagined myself next to you
a projection
a passing second
a shared sunset
built from smiling eyes
some people are shy with love
but it's only ecstasy bottled into moments
I painted it for you in my head
it would've faded
as is the nature of embers
born out of the need for it
a gravity felt towards things out of reach
expanding in a vacuum
free from context
framed in a glowing window
a frame in a zoetrope
of this small fishing town and passersby
until we were pulled apart
each receding to a point on the horizon
into a memory too small to recall
a flash-frozen portrait
of something lost but familiar
dissolved into an idea
a gas
into the air
I breathed you in then out
like we all do
by accident
Nishu Mathur
She's wrapped herself on the wall
With her fragrant pink flowers
In bunches of disheveled disarray

And when the summer wind blows
It sends a gentle floral shower
Of blossoms and scents my way

At night, under the moon and stars
I inhale her. With her I love to be
And though I dally and play with words
There can never be a poem as she.
Jasleen kalra
And if you are to love,
Love as the moon loves.
It doesn't steal the night,
It only unveils the beauty of the dark.

And if you are to love,
Love as the rain loves.
It doesn't wet the bodies,
It only washes the sad dirt of the souls.

And it you are to love,
Love as the wind loves.
It doesn't drift away,
It only cleanse you to the core by invading through each pore.

And if you are to love,
Love as the sun loves.
It doesn't radiates heat,
It only pours its warmth on you to enlighten your way.

And if you are to love,
Love as the star loves.
It doesn't delightfully twinkles,
It only reminds you that not even death can separate two hearts.

And so forth,
if you are to love
Love as the whole universe
& not just a part of it.
Jack P
closed off, cease candor, delusions of grandeur
to everyone but you, Online Person; because that's your name,
as far as we're both concerned.

this in mind, consider me an open PDF, buried on page ten
of your favourite search engine
hallowed ground, that is.

[not an open book, those are honest and available to everybody who cares to look]

by the time you get to page ten
you've strayed from the path of relevancy
but the results pique pointless curiosity -
partly privy to my pathetic plateau.

and even my brothers are not in the know.
hey hi hello
Kyle Kulseth
Buzzing drinks, this purple sky
shrink around the orange street lights.
You told me once, it might be nice
          to know what the look
          of a winning hand looked like.

Cliched sighs were my reply.
Kept me from at least two lies.
Lines of Alaise, I'm swinging blind.
I'll play your best cue as it lies.

               Sing something sweet to me
               Raise your brown eyes to meet our city.
               My blue ones always sink;
               when the chorus kicks in
                    you look so pretty.

               I know you're not right for me.
               And, baby, I'm no good for anybody.
               But at least we share some needs
and the midnight view from the bridge on Orange Steet.

Stumbling steps and shaky laughs
and creasing lines in clasping hands.
I told you once I'd take a chance
          to see the sly curve
          of your wine-soaked shy glance

Buzzing signs, citrus street lights
Let's fall in love with urban blight.
Our voices loud, we're walking blind.
So here's my best play, one last time.

               Sing something sweet to me.
               Close my blue eyes--I love this city.
               Your brown eyes sing to me.
               We're the chorus now, babe--
                    you're bright, but I'm witty.

               Know it's been a Goddamn week.
               And I know I'm no good for anybody.
               But let's still our shaking knees
    and kiss a new year on the bridge on Orange Street.
and they told me they understood,
but they don't.
they don't know but i can see the growing fear and concern in their eyes when i said
"mama i wanna die."
and if my last breath were today please know that no matter how much i planned for this day,
my death wasn't planned.
cause it comes and goes you see.
there's something,
hanging the want for life in front of my eyes and there are times where i desperately try to grasp it,
but dad i just can't anymore.
it's not your fault.

i couldn't feel your love even if you told me you loved me a million times.
i couldn't feel the euphoria i was supposed to feel when smiling or laughing anymore.
i'm sorry to keep breaking your heart but my mind was still made up even when recalling "the best day ever" to try to convince myself that this life is worth living.

cause it's not,
for me.
i knew since the day i was born that this was a mistake.
god, made a mistake.
i'm not supposed to be here,
at all.

so send me off peacefully.
clean out my room and move far far away and call it
"starting over".
i know it'll be impossible to forget your son,
your friend,
your brother,
but please,
intstagram // @introawake
kiss me in your backseat
like nothing has ever been like this before
'cause you kiss like a promise
like you have never wanted anything more
than me

and just maybe, i'm crazy about you baby
and i guess it's a mess but i've always loved messy

and with your lips on my neck, i feel like the best is yet to come
and with my heart on my sleeve, i hope you can see it beats like a drum

and i'm wrapped around your finger and my gaze might just linger on your face
and i can't help but notice what we've made of this moment in this place

is beautiful
you're beautiful.

in the streetlights, with your brown eyes looking into my heart
hold me tighter, with your bright lights lighting up the dark
you're lighting up
i wanna give you wild love, the kind that never slows down
Her beauty-
stunning like a shooting star soaring across an abandoned night sky.

Her personality-
vibrant as an early morning sunrise.

Her hair-
beautiful as a Christmas snow.

Her smile-
warming like a summer night bonfire

Her lips-
gentle as a baby butterfly

Her skin-
smooth like Mulberry silk

Her thoughts-
endless like a rainbow

Her heart-
mountainous like the Appalachian Trail

Her love-
addicting like a drug

And her laugh-
precious and breathtaking like the 7 wonders of the world
This beautiful girl has me losing my mind. I can't and won't stop thinking about her.
We're almost touching.
we were walking side by side,
you're talking about cabs in your hometown.
I can feel the gravity of your hand, calling my fingers
whispering "it's alright."

We're touching but not quite.
you held my shoulder to protect me from the passing cars.
and for the first time in a long while, I felt so fragile.
In this world where I find it hard even to breathe,
you believed me.

I almost said it.
All I need is one ounce of strength to tell you every single thing that I have ever felt about you.

I want to find home in your collarbones.
Would you be kind enough to let a stranger in?
I want to seep in your being because I'm cold.
The world is harsh and my cracks are aching.

Please don't ever become a stranger,
whose laugh I can recognize anywhere.
Grand Piano
Step 1: Get out of bed
Step 2: Look in the mirror
Step 3: Practice your smile
Step 4: Eyedrops to hide the red eyes
Step 5: Conceal the dark circles
Step 6: Breathe
The curtains are almost up
Step 7: Lock down the pain
Step 8: Ignore the weight on your chest
Step 9: Silence the screams inside of your mind
Step 10: Choke down the sobs in your throat
Step 11: Ignore the stinging in your eyes
Step 12: Swallow past the tightness in your throat
You’ve put on this show a million times
Step 13: Don’t let them see
Times up. Curtains up. Camera rolling
You know how when you’re not ok but you try so hard to pretend you’re ok that it becomes a ritual
Grace Espinoza
I stand for
The thousand versions of myself
That no one else stood for

Every single child
Who will grow into women like me
That copes with trauma
Put upon them

No concept of normality
When the hands we trust
Begin to touch
To tear
To take
What was never theirs in the first place

For all the women who ache
For her tongue to articulate
The lost art of language
She’ll never quite annunciate
For it’s grasping at strings
They’re unraveling

I stand for people
Who paths I’ll never touch
Who dance on the margins
Flowers through concrete

For a beating heart
Is enough commonality
For me
Jeff Gaines
She think's that she is only silver.
Second place, forever and again.
But this girl ... she is so, so much more.
She is my dear, dearest friend.

Her soul, while brighter than the sun,
is tortured by confusion and things in her past ...
lofty goals that would thwart even the toughest
and a lifestyle going so fast.

Courageous ... and meek.
A warrior ... and a flower ... all at the same time.
Legions of followers, those who look up ... never to see,
the little girl who roams in her mind.

She will get were she is aiming ...
my heart believes in her so.
She is strong, stubborn ... so very brave,
and this child inside her grows.

Now distant, I'll still watch her life

from this abyss, for reasons that may forever remain

She is far more valuable than any silver, precious gems
yes, even gold.

No object d'art or more costly antiquity ...
has ever,
ever been sold.

I only wish that I could have somehow ...
made her see ...
that as my friend ... she was so, so much more ...
than merely silver to me.
What can ya do ... What can ya say ... when someone just doesn't "get it"?
I guess the sad thing is. I would have taken a bullet for you. And you choose to shoot me.

                      With love,
forty-eight hours is a long time to wear a binder,
and my ribs are screaming for mercy,
for a break from the compression and lack of mobility.
but it's not that easy.

sometimes i'd rather face the pain,
than face the fact that i am female.
these weights on my chest,
drag me to the ground.
i break down.

i feel locked in my body,
and all i want to do is break free.
nobody should feel the need to shower in the dark,
because the reality of their body is too much for them.
it shouldn't be this way

and i know i shouldn't compare myself to people,
but i cannot stop thinking,
'what if i were cis'.
i think of how much easier everything would be.
i wouldn't have to worry over how long i've been wearing my binder,
or if i pass,

i wouldn't have to worry about turning eighteen,
knowing i will be homeless.
but instead, my mother would celebrate her baby,
becoming a "legal adult."

forty-eight hours wouldn't be a worrying statement,
just another frame of time,
it wouldn't reflect on my self-care routines,
or lack thereof

it'd just be forty-eight hours.
come with me
along this route
of clinging vines
and love's complicated
signs, with hot pink
roses and swelling

rest with me
and hear the singing
birds, the tap-tap-tapping
of the woodpecker's
rhythmic words,
the rushing creek's
burbling sheets

wet love
coats the banks and feeds
the turtles, nourishes
the mind and takes us
back to an ancient time,
your heartbeats
finding mine

come with me
into a passage of reckoning
and i will place my heart
in your palm, complexities
gone when we sink
in the loam, this wild
softness our home.
We are the ones who are hard to understand
We'll be the last ones in the movie theatre
because the ending scene made us cry
We'll stop to smell the roses
because they deserve to be appreciated
We are the ones who will take the time
to get to know what keeps you up at night
We are the ones who will imagine
an entire future of adventures
with the people who show us love

We are the ones who will love you more
than we love ourselves sometimes
We will give you our strongest parts
in hopes that we can make things better
We desire to see you become the best you
to make sure that you always feel our love
We crave affection and appreciation
We give a piece of ourselves away every day
sometimes to people who don't deserve it
Our love is easy to take advantage of
and sometimes we don't get back
the love that we give away

When we hurt, we crumble and fall apart
We constantly have to put ourselves back together
We are more fragile than we like to give off
We carry our emotions on our sleeves
Our flaws have the ability to consume us
We aren't afraid to give you the world
but we are afraid to feel unloved
We want you to see what we see
We want you to understand where we're coming from

We are good people with good intentions
We are stronger than we look like
Not everyone can feel the way we feel
We feel too much, too often
We are not hard to love
We are something not everyone knows how to love
But you need to remember that
your worth does not change just because
no one is there to appreciate you, to remind you

You are not any less lovable
You are the most lovable person in the world
You are a light that the world needs
Your kindness is not your weakness
You do not need to change for anyone's acceptance
You do not need to stop giving love
just because you don't get any back
Your heart is the best thing about you

And one day when you least expect it
someone will notice you from across the room
and know exactly how to love you
They will think all of these things are beautiful
They will deserve the love you can give
They will fill the empty space in your heart
But for now, don't stop feeling
We are the ones who feel everything so deeply
We are the ones who can't give up because
We are the ones who will teach the world
how to love
We are exactly who we are supposed to be
Of those things that glamour for clarity
Of those roads that sipped dead calls
Of those shadows that retrieved retributions panache of the smoke that chased blunt images,
We are here for the death of our dead ones,
We are here to breeze out bodies from the ghost of our forefathers giving out beggars of spirits.
We are here for the sake of humanism and individualism found among the seasoned weather.
We are here to head home from the figures of fingers crossed in the blossoming crossroads.
We are just here for your sake &your future.
We are this spiced pumpkin skin driving impunity,
Driving the heavens of our lunatic fringe benefits.
When these spirits visited our forebearers,
We called them runners of evil in the night,
In the morning,  we called them cats of love,
But the white brought a foreign god to us
We sold our shrine of mystic miseries to them
Now,  they took our miseries to make names
And we transport their stupidity back to them
Thinking that they will accept it back from us.
This celestial aboundment is foregone fire
Forging the spirit of the world into our curriculum.
We are the timeless wrong that the villagers sing of along the Abiriba-Nkporo road.
Black Butler of generational curse we brought
Intentionally trying to visit the future vintages.
We are the cause of our own blood spilling through the thin walls of our shadows and spirits.

©John Chizoba Vincent
he was the boy with dragons in his eyes
while she had fire in her soul
but what is the dragon without his flame?
im in love with my best friend. he'll never know. but, thats okay because sometimes, being friends is being better than nothing at all.
CA Smith
A house is built
The house becomes a home
The home turns into memories
The memories turn into people
The people turn into stories
Stories turn into legends
History is changed
Lives are changed
Love is spread
One Love
Bricks are purchased
That build houses
That turn into homes
That create memories
That turn into people
That turn into stories
That turn into legends
That change history
And it all started with
Just. One. Brick.
Sometimes it's tough when you are just laying bricks to see the end picture, but it makes a difference in the end! It can be so easy at times to feel like we aren't doing enough to help others or to grow ourselves, but one ripple affects the entire pond.
emmie cosgrove
Please tell me your lies

How you saw a shooting star and thought of you and I

Because even when you’re pressed against me

All  my fingers ever touch is your skin as cold as ice

You’re running out of love to give

And it is eating me alive

So cover me in dishonesty

Make it sweet like honey -

I’ll allow these falsities to drip all over me

Because I’m not sure if I am strong enough to face the truth

As I know if you do see a shooting star you’ll think of you and -
I will not tame my fire, because you're afraid of being burnt.

I will not shallow my depths, because you're afraid to drown.

I will not calm my winds, because you're afraid to fly.

I will not soothe my earth, because you're afraid of dirt.

I refuse to cut away my thorns, because you can't see the beauty of the rose as a whole.
If anger was a colour
what would it be?

stereotypical blush red
or would it be
the black slashes on a page

the its overs and the i'm sorry's

maybe its the grey of an oncoming storm
waiting for it to move on

If only it were that easy
to describe emotions
s  e  n  s  a  t  i  o  n  s
and feelings

but in reality
you can't

because we as human beings
are much more complex

we are the changing currents
and rolling waves

blending into one
And just like that, dear,
I pulled the knives from my heart
And let the scars heal.
Our first date involved you shoving your tongue down my throat and i don’t know if it’s because you couldn’t get enough of me or you couldn't get rid of the taste of her.
Mister Granger
I know why the caged bird sings.

It's not because his song
is as vibrant
as his feathers, that he plucks away
each day because he doesn't
feel beautiful.

It's not because of the majesty
that exist in the freedom
of being able to spread his wings
though he knows
he'll never rise to the occasion.

He sings because he believes
that this cage
was made for a king
because he has never tasted
freedom with a side order of skies.

He's never flown past the sun
on a cool morning
or hung with the moon
on a warm night.

He's only ever known
the comfort of a prison
that his thoughts have
become accustomed
to calling home.

He would never venture
beyond the "welcome" mat
because what's beyond the threshold
holds no promise
the way these bars and metal locks do.

He sings because he knows
that no one is listening
so if he makes a mistake
he doesn't have to live with the regret
or embarrassment of knowing that he missed his note.

The caged bird
never believes that he's caged
because behind these walls
he's safe
and he prefers it this way.

I know why the caged bird sings.
A twist on a title by one of my favorite authors...
Sweet, sweet those sounds of blithe songs and laughter;
They still find me in my dreams on lonesome nights.
Bitter, bitter the silence in my heart the morning after.

Once, a daft heart soared to discover someone dafter;
Oddballs together, we tasted the world’s wacky delights.
Sweet, sweet those sounds of blithe songs and laughter.

Jokes so silly, never unkind, banter flew by faster.
The crazy faces we so carelessly wore highlights
Bitter, bitter the silence in my heart the morning after.

Subtle changes sometimes hurt more than sudden disaster.
One heart has evolved while the other fool still cites
Sweet, sweet those sounds of blithe songs and laughter.

Life is a long book; our frolics were only one chapter.
Reminiscing about those golden olden days invites
Bitter, bitter the silence in my heart the morning after.

Frail those bonds never were, friendship never did shatter;
Separate but close, we’re both still oddballs by all rights.
Sweet, sweet those sounds of blithe songs and laughter,
Bitter, bitter the silence in my heart the morning after.
NaPoWrimo Day 23
Poetry form: Villanelle
Ashley Lingy
Encased in smooth defiance.
I am set in my ways, and I refuse to depart,
I refuse to learn, I refuse to be taught.
I'm cold,
closed off, shut down.

What better choice is there when people just
with indifference?

I won't open up,
from my hard earned shell.

For years, it is here that I've stood,
deep in my cool fortress, protected,
cloaked in neutrality.

My secret lies deep.
Here, I can't be cracked.

My weakness.

Here, I am safe.

My fear.

I wonder how long I can hide it?

What will be my demise?

That fragile spot, and
hell is a place where
you constantly love those that
do not love you back.
i crave it like a drug
i am an addict
searching for my next high
through your words
that tell me i am enough
for i cannot tell myself
that i am worthy
Crave for me like a smoker
Craves for a puff each night.
Stefan Smith
depression depression depression

Stop it.


I is me and
you are you.
Seperate from identity
yet your lies root to my core.
I can't help but listen as
gravity gradually seems heavier

You can feed on me
that's fine.
Distort my reality
and take my smile.
But you will never take my hope.

The endless source behind the
Of my soul.
You'll never cease the
I in me.

So form each woe,
but forever is my soul.
Endureth this universe.

Go ahead.

Take me.

depression depression depression
i don't think i will ever realize the true depth
of trouble i am getting myself into

because no matter how far i am under,
i never look up

and maybe this flaw will
be my downfall

because afterall, i'm living a tragedy
I can no longer hide
My soul ignited

once disparaged
I long to share it

The chills in my spine put into words

Lips on skin
Eyes filled with sin

What is this sensation

I drip colors you cannot see

Heightening my passion
Enhancing my touch

Raw emotion channeled as such

My desire aches
The color of flush
My cage breaks
Expressions of lust

I do not fear it
I can hear you blush

My favorite sound

Our souls combust
My restless soul longs for something fulfilling
zahra wang
           cherry red
                and ever so
          ­                                      could i
                                      invite them over
                   so they could lay
         ever so softly
on mine?
kiss me before you go
zelle ma belle

(zelle is an interbank system for sending cash in an instant to someone else’s bank account)

sent her an unexpected $250,
at 4:00am, of course,
a check-plus for her life,
because she revel reviews her day at school,
as special person day, teaches them well, and
anointed, appointed unsolicited confirmation by them
“as part of our family”
how they crave her body, her touch, at scary movie parts,
her kitchens diner size menu,
her refusal to ever disappoint,
her candy drawer supreme,
her crayon color visions which they execute,
her zen sense of their moods,
and for me,
for calling them without hesitation
my grandchildren

indeed more here hers than mine
she asks me why the $$ and poet doesn’t lie
but thinks quick at 7:30 am while bed prone,
“you won Nana of the Day award”
the only parent on the floor with two kids in her lap,
for the magic show,
the rest, benched, chattingly adultry things

she thinks on it and says
“ok, I accept!”

p.s. also,  I have yet to inform her of the (my) elimination of a
crystal champagne flute while doing my manly cleanup  from Friday night lights dinner pink champagne celebrating  
le weekend’s arrival

they say if you
could go back in time
to meet a young
would you shoot him
right away
or let history
just sit there

would you try to
tell him what might be
if he becomes a

would you maybe wait
until you knew
if he could
really destroy
you too

would you kill
him with no qualms
saying it was evil
blood on
your palms

or would you,
like me, have
a change of heart
and try to teach
that little Hitler
Daniel H Shulman
Mr. Newton and Einstein can keep it.
So far I’m handling it all on my own.
Unlike Isaac who’d under a tree sit,
I don’t need gravity to keep me down.

They say when you’re happy you’re flying high.
But that must mean we’re destined for sadness
Because no human can stay in the sky.
While gravity just adds to the madness.

Pain and suffering from separation
When true love should attract us together.
And it’s gravity’s sole occupation
To pull two bodies closer together.

A cruel scientific duality,
With no power over my massive heart.
I have got no use for you, gravity.
When it seems I’m always falling apart.
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