Now that I am here

It seems unacknowledged

My perfections are thousandfolds of triggers

Something to be made stupid and incoherent-

Am incoherent?


Glances are tokens to everlasting,

And sweet they taste like sweat from sugar.

Fast as they go, nothing was made of them.

And I can’t tell anymore.


Sentiment is a feast and poison

Something uncontrollable to hunger and fear

Disgoring it

I look back.

It used to make me healthy.








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