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kayzamo Jul 6
We're chewing on pancakes,
And sipping cold coffee from wine glasses.
A record turns as we wistfully gaze outside,
Watching the weeds grow through cracks in the pavement.

A pill for you, a pill for me -
Without them we'd drive the world crazy.
They'll squeeze the norepinephrine and
Dopamine out of our neurons,
Just to keep us stable.
We toss them down the hatch,
Swallowing the chalky and bitter taste
Of uncertainty.

This is how we keep ourselves out of the hospital.
We listen to self indulgent music,
And keep our thoughts safe within these walls.
Dear friend, don't hang your head.
We'll be past this someday,

My psychiatrist promised I'd feel better,
So I'm going to try my best.
I'm sorry that your moods and mental state
Have been swinging like a brass pendulum,
To and fro;
Bleak lows and manic highs.
Let's take a stroll out by your old backyard pool,
With water black as ink.
Breathing in the crisp air
May help us clear our heads.

I'll always love you, you *****.
Call me and I'll come,
And we can wallow in our intrusive thoughts.
Grab my shoulder
So we can stand and fight the tides of life together.
Feedback and critiques welcomed!
Jul 4 · 542
Summer Slushie
kayzamo Jul 4
--- TRIGGER WARNING: themes related to trauma from ****** assault ---

I'm sipping you sweet,
Tangy, sugary, sappy tastes,
All dancing round my tongue
When you kiss me.
The straw is going to hit the bottom soon,
And croak as it scrapes the plastic.

How long is it gonna last;
How long is it gonna take
To find a new and fresh faced gal?
When I've grown boring and fat,
You're gonna think back
To when you asked if I'd be okay with polyamory,
And I said no.
You'll shake your head,
Wondering how youthful passion passed so soon.
Who knew a life with the little trauma *****
Wouldn't always stay happy?

I want to do that for you,
I really do.
I wanna give you freedom in love,
And touches that you've been craving your entire life.
I can't though - my mind goes back every time.
It circles round and round,
Synapses resonating,
Until my occipital's eye rolls forward
To watch the memory reel yet again.

I'm folded under my loft bed's sheets,
Laying on my back,
And watching my thumbs type myself to my knees.
I'm scared,
But the desperation for affirmation is stronger.
So I do it, even though I don't want to.
I do it because they're telling me to.
I do it because even though I'm not there,
My body is physically responding.
It grieves the death of my innocence.

Performative bisexuality -
Kissing girls in front of men
Who don't give a **** about me.
This is what I associate
With two and one making three.
So that’s why I can’t do that for you.

Due to the aches in my skull,
I'm chaining your wrists to mine.
That's hardly fair though,
And I feel like I'm being cruel.
Seriously, why should you have to care?
Why should you have to care
About the time I was so lonely
That I fed myself to pigs?

Yet I know that you do care,
But I still feel guilty.
I still fear that our summer will eventually end.
We can only share one cup of this sugary stuff
For so long.
What will you drink
When it runs out?
I welcome critiques! Thanks
kayzamo Jun 29
It's a strange thing to feel something
After being dormant for so many years.
At this point, I thought my only emotion was stress.
I guess I was wrong after all.

I haven't gotten used to feeling things.
It's uncomfortable
To admit to having emotions.
I clam up when I want to say "I love you,"
And my hands get clammy when I want to hold your own.
I have so many feelings pressing against my insides,
Trying to break out and get free.
For some reason, it feels like pushing through a brick wall
Just to tell you how I feel.

I don't know why I'm this way with my feelings.
Is it because of past betrayals?
Or maybe anxiety,
Stapling my tongue to the roof of my mouth?
I can't really say,
But whatever it is, I want it to be gone.
I want to stop holding back my love for you,
And let it flourish - unbridled and free.
If anyone deserves to have my love,
It's you.

You, who refuses to leave,
Even when I'm breaking.
You, who holds me in your arms
Even when I've set myself on fire.
You, who has a smile
That brings me back to life.
Whom I cherish with all my heart.

I'm aware
That because of you, I'll get better over time.
You keep finding cracks in my brick wall,
And bodyslam into them enough to create holes.
One day, thankfully, it's going to fall,
But I don't want you to do it all on your own.
I'll take a hammer to it from the other side,
And beat the **** out of my emotional barrier.

My emotions...
I never thought I'd be able
To set the ghastly things free.
I welcome critiques and feedback! Thanks
Jun 15 · 593
pretty knife
kayzamo Jun 15
I asked you if you would stay with me,
And you said "maybe,"
Before taking out a silver knife.
With a smile, you plunged it into my chest,
And I smiled back.

I continued to smile
When we would walk together.
We watched the people stopping to stare,
As more and more of them would inquire.
I would gladly show off the craftsmanship,
Such as the way the engravings in the handle
Would wind round and round like a supple vine.

Finally the last day came.
I knew it would, but I expected it sooner.
You politely pulled out the knife
And waved your goodbyes.
I waved back,
Happy that I could finally dispose of my corpse.
Critiques welcomed! Thanks
Jun 15 · 362
Petty Sorrys
kayzamo Jun 15
Muah, muah,
I'm so sorry.
Sorry, sorry, sorry -
Sorry for all the sorrys.
I have to apologize for everything I do,
For who am I if not a self-acknolwedged failure?
Who am I if not a cluster of catastrophes?

My words are empty;
My apologies are emptier than loneliness.
I'm sorry,
I'm sorry.
I said I'm sorry-
I know, but I said I'm sorry.
Please, please I wanna say sorry;
I wanna be sorry.
I know, I know...
But I'm sorry.

How do I unwind my trail of sorrys?
How damp of a marker will I need
To scratch out "sorry" from my thesaurus?
Just what will I do without my precious little word?
My sorry - my keeper, my comfort,
My obsession.
Now say that you forgive me,
Come on.
Say it, please, I'm begging you.
I need it more than life itself.

I'm so sorry.
Critiques welcomed! Thanks!
Jun 8 · 138
Copycat Plath
kayzamo Jun 8
---TRIGGER WARNING: themes related to self harm---

I swear to god,
I'm the 13th reincarnation of Sylvia Plath,
Only I'm bad at poetry.
I write, I hide in my bedroom with the light off,
And I grow a little crazier everyday.
One moment I'm singing a gentle song,
Nurturing the sweet daisies sprouted in my carpet.
A minute later I'm slicing open my forearms,
Cackling and painting something on the walls in blood.
Call 911 and shove the phone down my throat,
It feels good to gargle disappointment.

My writing has evolved over the years:
From naive, soft, and shallow murmurs,
To a steady, dull hum,
Then a defiant yell of a freedom.
However, it's time to enter another stage.
One of scratching, beating to the rhythm of a delusional dance.
It's tainted at the corners like an old, ruined photograph,
With a faint sour smell.
The final stage of my writing has come -
A frantic, hallowed, and deranged wail.
How long until the words I scrawl
Become nonsense?

So stay away,
Don't come through the crack in the bell jar.
Please, I'm trying to suffocate myself,
All in the name of art.
Let me stay in this vaccum of madness,
Pushing and pulling at my mind.
I'm telling you, it's going to hurt if you get too close.
My turbulent muse is ready with a match,
And I don't have the strength to stop her from burning you.

Let me revel in my obsession for a little longer.
My selfishness, my self-indulgence, my depravity,
Or whatever the hell you want to call it.
I know I'm a fool for wearing Plath's wedding band,
And swallowing her barbiturates.
I can't help but romanticize her legacy,
Writing her initials on Wernicke's and Broca's foreheads.
I don't care if I'm a copycat.
Critiques welcomed as always! Thanks!
kayzamo Jun 8
I can't stop thinking about you,
And I can't stop smiling.
You're my most favorite person in the whole wide world,
You know that?

You're a lipstick lesbian straight boy,
Who can probably walk in heels and wear liquid eyeliner
Better than I can.
Somewhere on the spectrum of femme and homme fatales,
You're sitting at the mid-point,
Content with being an enigma.
Don't get the wrong idea - I'm not mocking you.
I wouldn't have it any other way, believe me!
Your contradictory mystery,
Setting you apart from anyone I've known,
Is quite loveable, actually.

I'm holding onto the edge of my seat,
Trying to not get lost in your gaze.
Your eyes, warm and bright,
With color exploding from where the iris meets the pupil
Like miniature galaxies.
I can't tell if those explosions are green, gold, or hazel,
Or a mix of all three.
Either way, they're drawing me in,
And tearing down my walls,
Like dimensional space rifts ******* in and whisking
My fear away.

I know, I know,
I give these poems a conversational tone.
It's kind of like prose,
Even if it's too on the nose,
But **** the hoes
Who say I can't.
Cry more.
*** your pants.

So as you can see,
I love my lesbian boyfriend
More than my heart can bear.
My atriums and ventricles swell
With thoughts of you,
Pushing against my sternum and pleasantly aching.

I keep trying,
But there's no combination of words
That can communicate just how much you mean to me.
So park your U-Haul in the back to the right
When we have our second date.
I guess I'd better clip my nails,
At least two on my right hand anyways.
Critiques welcomed! Thank you kindly
kayzamo May 27
you call me your light -
breaking through your cloudy days and darkest nights,
and making the sunny days burn brighter.
if that's the case, then you're my light switch:
lifting me up, turning me o-
... okay, that's not the direction I meant to take that in.
i mean... it is tr-
alright, let's just move on.

i'm not sure whether to make this sweet
or stupid.
i guess it could be both? i'm not really sure.
i'd like it to have some sort of flow, though.
i'd like to make the poem poetic.
how am i supposed to make feelings into "art"
when i barely understand those feelings to begin with?

all this talk of "feelings," feelings.
feelings are fleeting...
i'm not playing around with that *******.
i have so much more building up in me
than just a feeling.
what i have, pulling at every muscle in my chest,
is... more like a promise.
a promise to you, and a promise to myself.

but what is that promise for?
what does it entail? what does it assure?
is it a promise for the future,
to press forward together despite the wrathful storms?
or is it a promise for the present,
to keep our palms and arms open
in case we need to fall back on each other?
i don't know - it could be neither, it could be both.
i'm still trying to figure out what the promise means,
and what it's for.

there is one thing that's clear to me.
there's one part of that promise
that i'm absolutely certain of.
no need to build suspense...
i'll cut to the chase.

i promise

i know, that seems like such a little thing.
i can give honesty to anyone, right?
but when i say honesty, i don't mean the bare minimum.
i'm not talking about basic respect,
and baseline truthfulness that everyone deserves.
i'm not even talking about polite humility,
or standard integrity.
i can offer that to anyone,
and i could give you that even if i didn't love you.

so let me clarify...
this is what i mean when i say honesty:
i'm promising to remove my mask around you;
to let the fake persona shielding me crumble.
i'm promising to let you into places of my conscience
that i don't even know about.
a promise of full vulnerability,
to give you a carbon copy of the key to my being.
i promise to tell you things
that i've never told anyone.
hopefully, by opening up that intimate honesty,
i can support you in a stronger way as well.

there's more to the overall promise, yes,
but i've yet figure out
what each dimension of it means.
i'm excited to further discover that promise
together with you.

wow, i intended this to be funny.
i guess it got real, huh?
I personally don't know how to feel about the piece, since it reads a little differently than my typical writing. The person I wrote it for said it was their favorite though, so I figured I'd post it. Critiques welcomed!
May 23 · 341
Daffodil Crescendo
kayzamo May 23
Your passion blooms yellow,
Like the smile of a rising sun.
The wind blows, and the daffodils bellow;
They echo a crescendo - their spring has begun.

Their song flows across the ground,
Blooming budding emotions in its wake.
The nectar dampening the soil mound
Has enough oxytocin to make a soul ache.

These daffodils grew over the snow in my lawn,
Melting the cold as their roots gripped the earth.
I kept warm among the blossoms as the hours rolled on.
My mind gradually defrosted - like a cerebral rebirth.

My winter has mostly ended, indicated by each perennial.
I have you to thank for planting the first bulb out there -
Double digging the stubborn dirt, yet remaining congenial,
Despite the unfit sod and icy air.

I owe it to you that I've recovered whatsoever:
My cognitive crime scene, solved with your empathetic luminol.
Perhaps young love is a foolish endeavor,
But if that's so, then I'm the most foolish fool of all.

So I'll unabashedly listen to your daffodil crescendo,
And resonate with the joy in your living rhythm.
I'll plant you some chrysanthemums to match in yellow,
So we can sit together with them.
Critiques welcomed!
May 20 · 359
kayzamo May 20
---TRIGGER WARNING: themes of trauma related to ****** assault.---

On an evening alone, dark and dismal,
I laid upon my crisp floor rug.
Stomach down, back up,
Thinking about the one I love.
I mused and mulled over many things,
Such as how I cared for her so,
Or when we'd next meet,
And what I'd even say.
As I continued to think and think,
My mind settled on other kinds of things.

I bit my lip; I stalled for a moment.
I hovered a thumb over the enter key,
And with a single exhale released my hesitation.
"How to figure out my kinks," or
"How to ask about her kinks."
I felt like a child, sneaking onto the home computer at night,
And finding a timid sort of delight
In googling "*****."

So I continued...
Taking a quiz here,
Reading a page there,
When something stopped me in my tracks.
Something cold ran down my back,
Like a spectre tracing my spine with a finger -
An otherworldly shiver.
Not a shiver of excitement or elation,
But rather one of danger,
Signaling an unholy presence hanging over me.

I could see them as I glanced up.
His eyes:
                                                        ­                                       Burning
                                                         ­     Knashing
                                                       ­                                       Bloodcurdling
Looking, seeing right through me.
My ceiling fan stirred his viridescent hair;
Pulled at the petals of the rose between his teeth.
His grin grew wider
As the stem's thorns grew longer,
Piercing his raw, red gums.

He came to remind me, it would seem...
Remind me that he still existed.
He wanted to remind me that
He still haunted the sides of my head -
Stirring, kneading my temporal lobes.
Searching the gaze in his eyes, I remembered.

I remembered feeling more worthless than dirt.
I remembered the validation I thought I needed.
I remembered the guilt, shame, and fear.
I remembered feeling like a disgusting, useless ****.
I remembered trying to avoid sending him photos.
I remembered staring at my ceiling,
Sobbing quietly in the night,
Silently screaming within my chest
For help.
To be saved...
By someone, anyone.

But most of all...
But most of all,
I remembered why I couldn't be loved.
Not in that way, at least.
My demon, who for some reason I still cling to,
Reasons that I don't even understand,
Won't allow it.
I blinked, and all but his eyes vanished,
Leaving me with a small thought as opposed to immense fear.
Maybe it's okay that I could never enjoy a partner that way?
Perhaps I could learn to be complacent with that.
Perhaps I could learn to be content with that.

I yawned, chucked my phone aside,
And closed my eyes to sleep.
I was iffy on posting this one. Hopefully including a trigger warning is enough for this piece - while the themes aren't overly explicit, they are there. Feel free to let me know if this piece is inappropriate for HePo. I'm glad I conceptualized this character and wrote this piece, but that doesn't mean it has to be posted, especially if it's too triggering.
As always, I welcome criticism! Thanks.
May 16 · 162
4:35 AM
kayzamo May 16
You said you liked hearing my laugh,
And I said thanks,
Not really knowing what else to say.

We had talked for 4,
9 hours in total...
For the fifth time this week.

My thoughts, warm -
They expand as they hit my throat.
And I kind of feeling like throwing up,
But in a good way.
It's in a good way.
May 11 · 86
Porcelain Bull
kayzamo May 11
Put me on your shelf -
Your little china cabinet *****.
Sitting pretty behind the glass,
And eagerly waiting to be seen.

The chipped teacup to the right,
The one with the fuchsia floral print...
She said you broke her before making tea;
She had your blood on her rim for proof.

The cracked plate to the left,
The one with the sapphire villa scene...
He said you dropped him on purpose,
Smiling as he clattered to the floor.

Then they went quiet,
And I stared at you as you peered in.
You think you're clever, don't you?
Well - I'll tell you what,
You're a ******* fool
For putting a bull in a china closet.
I gladly welcome critiques. Thank you!
May 9 · 146
kayzamo May 9
I don't write love poems,
It's just not something I do.
Maybe that's because
I've never been in love.
That is, until I met you.

You monopolize my limbic system,
Leaving me to limbo under my emotions.
Look, you know I had to include some **** like that.
Don't laugh at me, you loveable *******.

I'm staring at the notepad app
On my phone,
Trying to think of how to say what's on my heart.
I type a few words, then I stop,
And realize that I don't know where to start.

Lips sealed shut,
Unable to speak -
I'm a frazzled mess;
An energizer bunny of stress,
With electrifying panic.
For a moment I forgot how to breathe:
Giving my brain some oxygen
May help a little.

"I don't know if you feel the same,
But I wanted to check and see."
I wanted to say so, so much more.
Like how your voice is the most enrapturing melody I've ever heard,
Or how rewarding your laugh is,
Or how intricate the stories you tell are,
Or how you say the most amazing things,
Or how you can make me laugh harder than anyone else can,
Or how you're the most loving person I know,
Or how vivid and lively your writing is,
Or how-

... That's gushy, I know.
I'm not very good at this.
I've never felt like this before.
Sure, I've stood longingly in others' shadows,
Feeling some kind of connection -
A string of fate.
I couldn't ever quite figure out though
If that string was tied to my heart or my prefrontal cortex.

But this is different:
It's not the same,
Not the same.
While it's hard to admit sometimes,
I think I kind of like it.
kayzamo Apr 30
I've decided, firmly -
Today, a year later from when I knew you;
A year later from when I cried...
I've decided
That I don't want religious *****.

Now hold on - I know how that sounds.
"This ***** is gonna castrate me!
Or something," is what you probably said.
Don't worry, little altar boy.
I only use my machete for garden snakes
In my two inch back yard.

The nerve, the gall, the gumption,
To tell me in the sweetest way possible,
"I'd prefer a subservient house wife."
You couldn't even tell me to my face -
It was second hand knowledge,
Passed along to me by my stoner co-worker.

I bit the pink marker and ****** it dry of ink.
The False god stopped sending you love letters.
Boo hoo,
Poor you.

I'm not entitled to anyone's love, and especially not yours.
You came into my life like a bullet,
Which through the lenses of rose-colored glasses
Looked like a gentle butterfly.
The Cosmos - she was looking out for me.
She's seen too many limp men like you,
And saved me with the gravitational pull of the moon.

So once again,
For those in the back,
Who were too busy wooing Joshua Harris:
******* and your christian *****.
Still not sure if this is too scandalous for HePo, but I figured I'd give it a shot. Critiques welcomed!
kayzamo Apr 30
You're looking for a girl
To give you character development;
Someone who can sweep you off your feet,
And change your life.
I can tell you one thing, bucko -
She's not gonna be me.

You're looking for a girl
Who can make the stars move to the rhythm of her voice.
The type of girl who, with a glint in her eye,
Sets the world on fire with will alone.
You expect me to be that way?
Please, most mornings I can hardly get out of bed.

I used to feel like it was wrong to be normal.
I used to feel guilty for being average.
It took me a while to realize that
It's okay to be proud of who I am,
Even if I'm as simple and bog-standard as they come.

Do I look like my name is Mary Sue?
Bug off,
I've got better things to do.
I welcome critiques! Thanks
kayzamo Apr 30
I've got no pop; no tangy sugary bite.
I'm not your type.

You need to forget me.
I'm not cute or pretty;
I'm not innocent and sweet.
I may not laugh at all your jokes.
I'm not your type, I'm no bubblegum girl.

I don't bubble up and out,
With a sunshine smile and a warm hand.
I have weird knees and baggy eyes
And my body is like nicotine gum;
You'll quit me and go back to the real thing.

The wrapper is in the trash -
So there's nowhere to spit me out.
So I run around the house at night,
Like a careless kid in the rain,
Splashing in puddles from my indulgent tears.

You need to forget me.
I'm not your type,
But I'd love you more than I've loved anyone.
I'd bury my heart in my tiny backyard
If that's what it took to make you happy.
I am open to critiques! Thank you kindly
Apr 30 · 108
Harpsichord Heart
kayzamo Apr 30
You play my heart like a harpsichord,
Making me feel things that
I never wanted to feel.

They say that you're a player,
But I'd have to disagree.
I have a sneaking suspicion that
You're actually a puppeteer,
Because I can't move my limbs
When you're not around.

C, c, d -
Clair de Lune in C minor.
Otherwise known as the sound of
The buffoon shedding tears.
When the moonlight comes, I ponder.
Only then, in that moment, do I doubt.

Are your glass eyes empty?
I thought for sure that they sparkled with light.
But even if that was my mind's reflection
I still want you.
I am open to critiques! Thanks
Apr 28 · 342
Plastic Rubies
kayzamo Apr 28
Brilliant cherry reds
Scattered like stars across the tile floor.
Their sheen is alluring -
A bright dollar store sparkle;
A candied shimmer to disguise triviality.

All it takes is a jagged nail
To scratch away the lie,
Thinly veiled by a coat of paint and acrylic.
"A person's true colors will always show in time,"
Or so the saying goes.

The deceit is lovely.
It carries an aromatic falsehood
With promises of



                                                    and beauty,

All pretending to glimmer in your plastic ruby eyes.
I gladly welcome critiques. Thanks!
Apr 28 · 218
kayzamo Apr 28
Half asleep feet shuffle in aimlessly;
Water fills the celestial coffeepot.
Chocolate brown grounds by a spoon are allot.
A spoonful spills to the floor! This marks its tragedy.
Another, another, so painfully,
This tragedy would make any distraught.
How can sleep be torn from eyes so bloodshot
Without the black elixir so holy?

The sleepy feet walk through the garage door,
Each brooms' handle is long like cold harpoons.
It sweeps up the wasted dreams on the floor.
"I measured out my life in coffee spoons."1
The tedious toil begins once more,
And so go the morning coffee mistunes.

1 - From "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T.S. Eliot
I gladly accept critiques. Thank you kindly!
Apr 28 · 227
kayzamo Apr 28
do you ever feel like...
like you're ethereal, ghostly?
a fantasy existing in your own mind.
maybe the reason they don't see you is
because you're not real.

do you ever feel like...
like you walk alone in company?
flitting through dimensions,
enough in their world to exist
but wholly invisible within yours.

do you

do you ever wish

to be seen?
that someone would just
******* notice you for once?
I gladly welcome critiques. Thank you!
Apr 28 · 536
Frosted Glass Window
kayzamo Apr 28
Who are all of you?
What are you?
Am I human like you too?
If so, then why is there a pane of glass
Separating me from you?

I've been out here in the cold,
Looking in my whole life.
I once tried knocking on the glass;
Gently tapping with my fingertips -
I think Famous Blue Raincoat was playing too loud
For any of you to hear.

Just when I was ready to accept my fate:
Freeze to death and meet my maker -
She took my gloved hand in her own
So we could both look in together.
I gladly accept critiques. Thanks!
kayzamo Apr 26
A flow, a pen, an ink stained palm.
A life, a story, all gone wrong.
A spark of hope in the night, maybe?
No, your hope is grammatically incorrect.

"This is where your sentence could have ended
but it didn't," see?
Nonetheless, it wants so desperately to end.
An incomplete thought, a fragment -
A fragmented existence with an expired due date.

Can you pick up the forlorn pieces?
Use your calloused fingers to avoid getting cut.
You continued the sentence,
But you used the semicolon wrong.
Apr 26 · 141
May I be your angel?
kayzamo Apr 26
What do I have to do to be her?
Your god-sent angel,
Taking dainty steps down a golden staircase;
Descending from a city unknown to living men.
I'll have a paper sign stapled to my chest,
With narrow streams of blood down to my toes,
And words in pink marker scrawled across the paper:
"The One - Yours Truly, a False god."
Apr 26 · 219
kayzamo Apr 26
She thinks she's all grown up;
She walks in thinking that she's a full grown
Turning her ankle to show off that tiny heel.

Vermillion border -
Drawn on higher than the empire state.
Her tiny eyes dart down the aisles.
Do you really think you can sniff out
A hot stud at the local WalMart?

Her soul tricked itself,
Roaring like it's a lion.
She'd do anything to make herself forget
That she's only a tiny girl.

And there she stands,
Scanning a tiny bag of chips,
Then stealing a beer at the self-checkout.
What a grown up thing to do.
I welcome critques. Thanks!
kayzamo Apr 26
I took a drive on a manic day,
And turned the corner way too fast.
My actions caught up to me at last,
And I crashed my car on life choice lane.

So I stood there as the engine smoked,
And pondered on nonsensical things:
Such as how the caged bird still sings
Despite a shortage of dopamine.

Hallowed be thy name o' Lorde,
Somehow still playing through my radio.
Sound waves bounce against the pavement and echo,
Making the loneliness even louder.

I'm left to kick rocks on life choice lane -
There's a dent in the stop sign pole
For everyone who has paid the toll
Of dealing with my sorry ***.

But now they're gone,
And now I'm gone.
I welcome critiques. Thank you!

— The End —