Now that I am here
It seems unacknowledged
My perfections are thousandfolds of triggers
Something to be made stupid and incoherent-
Am I 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
I look back.
It used to make me healthy.