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i'm back again, i'm sad again
but i'll still do anything i want [again].

i heard wasabi takes away the pain
i'm still drowning, please don't say my name with such delight

these walls are so hollow
i need some privacy for me and my sorrow
we like to stay up til the AMs and suffocate each other.
idk this is okay, haven't written in ages.
 Jul 2016 Anndreana Brooks
Ito
You're gonna stop now I said!
You're gonna stop drinking so much,
you're gonna stop eating bad foods,
you're gonna stop making dumb decisions.
But most of all you're going to be happy.

Although hApPiNeSs is subjective,
only YOU control it,
the fire within your being dies every day,
you're still drinking, eating and doing as you please.
At the end of the day you are HaPpY!

Mr. Self-Destruct and Mr. Brightside all in one,
you act like you're having fun...
yet inside you're as happy as a criminal,
it's all subliminal.
No one feels what you feel and no one cares like you do.
Deep introspection.
'mongst teddy bear shaped clouds,
and with friend whose eyes are as amber as honey sickles,
the sky melts sugar milk,
and whispers bubbles of candy cotton!
for the twilight knew much of the Wonderer.

with hopping rabbit bunnies,
and boxes with a fellow named jack inside,
the puppy-eyed child learned of many names,
and knew of many creatures--
O! have you heard of the bunna-easant?
the child would love of you to learn lots about it!

it seemed the Lord had blessed this young,
with naive heart and brave mind,
for you'd have to drink gallons of melted butter,
to be as sweet as he.

old nightmares beg for sips of the Wonderer's dove wings,
for the child knew of no such thing.
'what are mares of the night?' those eyes glistened toward the faeries,
with 3 sharp "ha"'s, they lean in and whisper,
'stay in your cradle, my young,' they'd wave their lolly finger,
'for there're no such things as those.'

for the white candy cotton was a favorite of the child,
same hue as the glowing deity he worshiped,
and brought the bouncing child through the embers of the day,
to hush the child to midnight play.

for time was awfully kind to this young,
as it pushes the child's golden swing,
following the young's silver eyes,
as they twitch with hunger,
at the appearance of the new critters it drew.

as cherry mermaids flicked the child through hearts of jelly,
and the fish from Stockholm 'plashed through chocolate lanes,
the Wonderer's taffy hair grew lengths,
and body took its outfit and changed!

the child basked--astonished!--and jumped from the tails,
leaving the mermaids and fish staring at one another,
with questionable marks and exclamatory minds,
'did we just lose our Wonderer?'

in shock, the deity's hair ruled short,
and no longer kissed the face of the 'Wonderer',
and bags filled blue light 'neath its eyes,
and rust reigned miles over the kingdom of orbs.

and the canvas had a streak of black,
'long its body,
and dried it lay,
unfinished of what was started.

for when the 'Wonderer' did decide to crawl 'neath silken shield,
and the deity's hair grew,
toss and turn, and turn and toss, the child did,
and the hair frizzled at tinted noon.

for in the Wonderer's brain,
an old horse awaits him,
with mane as black as goo,
and eyes as fierce as sandstorm,
the old horse awaits him,
and takes gallons from his wings.

and the teddy bear clouds turned to cotton,
and the fish melted by the amber,
and mermaids collapsed to bone,
and the golden gate said 'keep out, don't enter.'

for the bunna-easants had long since migrated,
and the sky turned a scared octopus,
for the candy bubbles had quieted,
and the child hung its youth.

but the Wonderer had long forgotten of his favorite candy,
and knew wonders of the mares of the night,
at cubic, he sits as blue light spills from bronzed eyes,
with the caffeine shots he jolts...


and the mares kiss him good-night.
We lose our little dreamer at some point...
Her skin is Obsidian,
Forged in the sacred flames of pain,
Calamity, and destruction.
She walks through Hell unscathed, for she is
Transcendent.
She was anguish, she was suffering,
She was guilt, she was unrequited love, she was hate.
Molded, formed, shaped, and artfully crafted, her darkness was beautiful.
Obsidian.

— The End —