poetry poured from me
when I thought of you
all blue ink was made of your eyes
every white page, your skin
verses were a joy to create
I felt freedom in imagination
shared thoughts and feelings
inspiration from your lips
your tongue and teeth
both cobra and kitten
strike or purr, I loved both
now orchids are a hallowed
feeling in the pit of my chest
where once a heart was
the night is dreadfully boring
the moon writes no sonnets
every rainbow is filtered in sepia
stars illuminate and I feel nothing
oceans are filled of dead things
another day passes
where thoughts are unspoken
and pen never meets paper

I pick up my pen and paper
Trying to knead my words like a baker
My mind feels like strobing lights
Can’t even remember what I wanted to write

Bored, bored, bored
Wanting to sleep
But I'm not actually tired
Done with classes
But not done with homework
I wanna go home
But I can't

Restlessly observing a stagnant drove
Youngsters complacently waddle as
Elders spike the pipes with bitterness
Resenting advancement and ambition.

Your dullness dissatisfies
Absence of desire disappoints
Concealed or forgotten
By a drivel of dust.

Personality is few and far in between nowadays
The same star-shaped sugar cookie cut into tens of thousands, millions
Baked in a nice, cozy oven
350 degrees... eight to ten minutes per batch
Sprinkles, cinnamon, lemon zest
The works
Sheltered in a well stocked cupboard
They sell out almost immediately after they’re put on display
Only to be devoured by the malnourished
(If you take the cookie too early, you’ll get sent to the pokey)
I could never eat them
Sugar cookies taste like ****