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A Simillacrum Nov 2018
In a minute,
I'm a *** smirk.
A shiny fang to show.
This pleasure, bundled
into nerves,
will decompose.

There isn't one chance.
Not one savior.
Evolution,
it still takes
its molasses-sweet-***-time.

I won't pray.
I won't wait.
As I am
& I shall be
the anti-divine.

I'm a literal *******.
I've long since comes to terms,
to terms with it.
I'm a depiction of the pits.
I've long since loved my worst,
my worst and best.

(...)

In a minute,
I'm a lost eye.
A stab wound, deep & old.
This sadness, bound
in my synapses,
wants me to know:

There is no escape.
No dissuasion.
Neurodivergence,
it wrestles
my ill logos for control.

I won't pray.
I won't pray.
As I am
& I shall be
funny chemicals.

I'm a literal *******.
I've long since comes to terms,
to terms with it.
I'm a depiction of the pits.
I've long since loved my worst,
my worst and best.
Beguile me like bioluminescence.
I love you, doe-eyed siren, take all my money.
My friends envy caused them virescence.
They’re too casual to see my summer tan.
But he’s just my type.
But he’s what I like.
I hear assurances of love twice as much.
Like a werwolf, come night I am a ****.
But he doesn’t cry on my shoulder ever.
I only trash my curse of obsolescence.
But he’s so attractive.
He’s exactly what I want.
But before I throw it in the fire.
Let me get my summer tan on.

— The End —