Onto her creased palm, lime scented glue she poured
To mend the loose page on that book she'd borrowed.
As she spread the glue, a pleasant feeling of release.
For to piece broken things together brought her peace.

What of the glue that lingered on her palm, though?
Across the sides of her petite hand did overflow...
She beheld its yellow viscosity in an odd little trance.
From the faint aroma, a new line of thought did advance.

Maybe she could use it to stick a note in her dorm,
To remind her that in life, transience is the sole norm.
Or to fix a friendship once worthy of the bards,
That had silently shattered into a million shards.

Or perhaps even use it on the heart hiding within her,
So the poor old muscle could heal a little quicker...
She turned on the tap with a frustration so fierce,
And washed off the lime glue along with her tears.

I should be working
but people just do nothing
and let those perfect moments slip

away. I can't reconcile how far I seem
to stand apart from people, people I like.
I fear I've always been so removed.
From a young age I had such difficulty
losing myself. How much I value being
lost, I see it in my earlier writings,
The praise I give to the ventures
which took me to dark places,
All-the-better to find oneself.
"What does not **** me,
Makes me stronger."
Thus spoke Apotheos
who I once praised
in the maze that is
The Apotheon, a place
at the heart of apotheosis.

This was before I gave up
on life. Sometime
long ago.


Whatever
is a human?