Others

I think I’m fine
like everyone else
Filling up  hours and seconds
as each time gap
fills up, I feel nothing is bothering me
nothing.

I
I’m too stuck on my insides
my emotional insides
stuck up bitch of mine

abstract little letters swung inside deep into
pudgy porridge

pink and pudgy
there’s a strange madness in her eyes
As I look around at all these figures around me
polka dots and fiery blue
eyes trying to catch me looking at her

But I am typing to pretend and pretending to do both
pink and pudgy
there’s a strange madness in her eyes
Like she could strangle me I  ever dared make a mistake

the curly haired pudgy cutey got no way of knowing what her purple stripes do to her

she does a little jig and the married maroon polo shirt is just living his vicious circle over and over again.
A part of the motley group
just a functional accessory

geeks in all patterns of black and white,
as smart as she thinks she  is,
who calls themselves a self proclaimed fashionista
sounds like a pasta with pistachio to me.

Everyone sounds like  crunchy cookies just waiting to get out of their plastic wrappers
And I’m just going to look at them
and write with a strange voyeuristic enthusiasm

about the colors they wear that can’t possibly hide the twisted crusty vibes

of the cookies inside their heads

The heart I always forget, the heart I always forget

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