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

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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