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Psych-o-rangE Nov 2022
A hole.

Means there's space to grow.

Now go forth, with this knowledge and go insane.

And never forget, my disciple, space out for the space outside is beautiful and the space away is always greener.

Endlessly strive to get nothing accomplished. Click the X. Submit the test. There will be no marks for you. Fill it yourself.
I don't know what I'm saying!
Psych-o-rangE Nov 2022
"Will you leave me then?"
The leaves blew North

"After you fly?"
"After your documents?"
"After our children?"
"After my youth?"
"After my life?"
The leaves flickered in a circle

"When will it be?"
They quickened, spinning, filling the atmospheric pressure

"Please tell me when you do"
A hurricane ceaselessly swallowing all the forests surrounding its vision, carried the world with it, and the sun
Conversations with my Partner #2

I'm saving this one for a special moment.
Psych-o-rangE Oct 2022
\
I'm not as half as beautiful as this man
/
But he's a Halfie like you
\
He's got no acne, I got scars on my face
/
But scars go away
\
Scars are scars they stay
/
No, they heal
\
Oh well, what can I say?
Psych-o-rangE Sep 2022
3 years
I find a new place
3 years
I wear a new face
3 years
I carry my shame
3 years
I burden my brain

Am I the variable, or a constant in march
It's never too bright and it's never too dark
A rolling snowball or a forest in fire
Border planted flags do not inspire
Psych-o-rangE Sep 2022
I can't see, I can't see
What is in front of me I couldn't see
And it cut my eyes
Blinking hurts, rolling hurts
What I can barely see is the scars
Tears I taste flowing down
Knowing hurts, I feel hurt

I feel shame and I feel stupid
Can't stop the pain and I'm alone
I am scared of the absence of light

There are voices
They say, they see themselves in me
I can feel their pain back
See me, see me
Psych-o-rangE Dec 2020
Wanting to be heard, with nothing to say
Old recitations to dialogue in a play
We speak, in echoes, like poetry, it rhymes
And the father of learning is repetition

What only concerns is the comfort in your reflection

Death is a comfort that doesn't exist
When you're dead, nothing really is
Nothing really is, and nothing will be
Consistency
Psych-o-rangE Oct 2019
A grain of sand on the beach, a puff of air in space.
Carried on the waves, drifting further out. Reaching.
Until the stars align in it's destination.
It's in orbit of what it travels so far to reach.
Carried by attraction, unknown that the smallest decimal-
Rewrites the whole system in unforeseeable ways.

Magic is real.
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