There’s definitely someone inside of me,
And it’s certain that he’s the enemy,
I can’t exactly say this easily,
But I really think that it’s only me.
It’s not the comments or even the posts,
As much as the eyes that get me the most,
For all the king’s men and even the rats,
Could not keep me together nor flat.
Are you happy now? Satisfied?
Have all your wishes been gratified?
Or are you the same, deep down under,
Try again for different plunder.
For who could love a one such as I?
Riddled to depravity that I deny.
No such person living on earth,
Could tell me with honesty that I’ll be
Missed. Kissed. Loved. In shame.
For I know not who is to blame.
The blistering glows and so do I,
I just don’t know the reason why.
If only my hands had something to grope,
But they’ll never find it plain out of hope.
And all that’s left is this goddamn shelf
Electric. Light. Magic. Elf.
For I am but a scourge of the deadfully living,
A scourge of the livingly dead and the giving.
And now the screen fills but remains empty,
As I ask myself why I couldn’t write about blankets.
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