A poem dedicated to a lost love.
to kill oppression don’t test my inflection my words have real bearing
It really doesn’t matter to you though, the plastic in your skin shows through
you know what’s really funny? I can still taste the sillicone in my mouth
a taste so familiar yet so foreign
learning to love a plastic is probably the hardest part
learning to put yourself in front of a lie,
I love you!
a three word phrase, never uttered unless needed to be said, or never
if the waste bucket is right next to me where do those words go? guess
no really guess? you can’t, me neither
hate to exacerbate, hate to manipulate, hate to face the fate
face to face with the devil, not the satanic kind
but yourself, the version of your self seething with silica gel and oxygen absorbers, that’s when you become plastic
