it's sad to think you've fallen for his pretty face, and the way he walks, the way he talks, the way he keeps you up for days... it's sad to know he doesn't really care, and all of this was just a show because he's run by softwares. it's hard to wake up and face the reality that he never once existed and was only brought to life by mere imaginations and thanks to you, you've been keeping him alive.
it's sad to hear him say, "thanks for playing!" when he's your only escape amidst your tiresome journey through life.
got so much immersed in a game and sometimes forget they never really existed despite casually talking about them with my friends every single day.
A fresh stage is set and I'm stamping this day as the day I finally cleansed the clouds and crossed your name.
You've taken a fall from your pedestal and I see you now, with your domino on the ground, my fair-weather friend (that's a kind way to put it), my boiling point can't cook up a better fit. I've played your ruthless game for the longest stretch, I let a ******* decade slip through my fingers; and I've still lingered, for the sake of something I can't recall anymore. Your betrayals are the mindless hand to an hourglass and I'm counting the sand you spilled. No sea of apologies can wash away this wreck. I'm done with pointing fingers and holding daggers to your neck. I'll lay my shield and armour down, and walk you out.
A fresh stage is set and I'm stamping this day as the day I let your hand and my grudges go and asked your ghost to stay.
I've always dreamed of adventure, but now, I'm not so sure. I grew up playing video games and playing pretend in the woods. What I would've given to be Link with my own legendary quest. But these are turbulent times. Between my anxiety and the businessman-president and his blue-bird threats and the media, honestly, I'd rather curl up in a ball and stay inside my house forever. But the truth is, no one ever caught a crocodile by hiding in their house. It takes real bravery. And while I've got problems staring me down like I'm deadmeat, I've got to be a crocodile hunter. I have to. It's the only way to free the princess trapped inside.
This poem aged well —ha! Guess I got my wish to stay indoors! I caused COVID-19, so feel free to cancel me, I guess! This poem was written in 2016.
there's secrets, hidden beneath the corduroy a world of wonder where admission varies guest to guest, it's a game of guess at whether you're let in or you're like the rest, corduroy's the fashion though for sure they'll be others that hold you high up just to push you down under