Writing like it might matter,
not sure if it ever will,
but I’m liking the patterns,
emo’s composed in prose,
everything is real,
hug from a bear kiss from a rose,
forget the reference if you don’t already get it,
just don’t forget to remember to feel,
on the stage of life everyone’s a critic,
way past the line of scrimmage,
no gimmicks it’s all real in the field,
can I get a witness to this existence,
it’s ambition mixed with persistence,
if the pen is a sword then what is the shield,
could I please get some assistance,
people sticking their nose in where they have no business,
please let’s all take a moment to yield,
life is too short and time is only an instant,
a moment can’t hold it I think I’m slippin’,
trippin’ not fallin’ blessed with omens & skills,
equipped with an awesome equilibrium & instincts,
every thing’s mixing every one’s trippin’,
releasing toxins & catching feels,
publishing photos of self that come with clever captions,
producing pieces of prose as a thesis composed of our existence,
which seems to lead to an honest way to heal,
or is at least self perceived to be something that’s significant,
though in most instants it feels like nothing matters,
a fever & chills sets in as all intentions are revealed,
silly human there’s only now no before nor after,
writing like it might matter,
not sure if it ever will,
but I’m liking the patterns,
emo’s composed in prose,
everything is real,
hug from a bear kiss from a rose…
∆ LaLux ∆
SF
2019
