the mediocrity is brimming—
little minuets of spring & love

oh! i’m sick to death of
pages upon pages of mediocrity
little drafts of sweet sugar lingerings!

all those pretty pink smiles
or faux blacknesses painted in
pale lipsticks & heavy eyeliner

wear your sorrow in your brow,
on your sleeve, pinned boldly to
your chest
wear love like the masacre it is
as once upon a time you had a heart beating inside the scabbard of your chest, now, its weilding itself, mercilessly

strike open the vast vaults & peal through the air, like birds racing from an unknown below to the piercing bright of the above fearlessly

this place brims with stale & decay—
the often said & boring

i cannot read the gutless & help myself from snoring


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