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-baby pout .
- •fed by a sparkling silver spoon ripely red of rust ; deep slumbers of trust thrust me high up upon a sour pedestal- I dig into my deep pockets for remnants of sweets ; the bitter bites I take are only remembrances of how I've never bruised my hands on a hammer, I've never reached for the stars without a booster seat cradling me;
- •Buckled in; Legs Flailing; - Pout Baby Pout while the vagabonds sip the salty tears that shoot down to the cement from the whining infant man. With such mass amounts of undeserved hope I have lost my ability to scratch up the ladder -as I see my peers boots tied, gloves tighter, desperately reaching for soil of a path to travel-
- •- I sit in the muck n the mire sleeplessly tired from these pretend golden shackles pathetically scraping my conscious for ways to convince myself it's not my fault; when it is, it is my fault; when bestowed opportunities that I chew up n spit out I am gnawing upon the feeders hand - pout baby pout.
it's not worth writing
- •just keep them in; they may yearn to get out, but do not let the words flow freely ... constant internal conflict to squeeze out a droplet of something pseudo philosophic ... using esoteric mystics to sugar coat words until they sound sweet ...
- •I lay here on my tiny bed; legs dangle off the edges; sweat sliding around my forehead and jumping off my temples- I feel a heaviness that is not falling -As in, unlike the gravity; pulling towards the ground : I feel a pushing around me, going inwards towards my innards - like a blanket squeezing my ribs tighter n tighter yet constantly loosening
- •I can breathe- but just enough to live ... an uncomfortable feeling that never quite crosses into physical pain but borderlines it every moment ... These are just words- futile listless words ...