Email Poem

Your IP Address: 18.116.23.178
Your Email Address:
To Email Address:
Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
Writing this I must be doing
This I love I must I love it must
Why?
Heh, the words melt into nothing as they say
Can’t understand it anyways
The papers scramble and run and wait that’s not supposed to—
Ah yes the letter? Yes, the letter
Pretending it is all fine when it isn’t
Ha
Still, I don’t understand what they say
    Pretending fine care understand melt love writing
If the party is to be crashed why’d I care?
Dancing won’t help would it no it wouldn’t
Pretend care I must love care pretend?
Singing pretense care I must love must I care pretense singing
Sing?
You sing yet not are singing
Bye.

Second living day I rise
Peace?
Love it must I
Pretentious it must be
Bullet points on my head
Singing not caring that I must love
Paint the world red this day
Pretending to care, love, sing
Canister of lies
Medical probably, or pretending to be
Singing probably helps:
Singularity of the mind escapes to another plane
Desire quench desire yet birth more desire
Still, I can’t hear the meaning in their words
The sun flash by like disco lights. And moon
Never mind, this ends now,
A trigger word you say and I do it now
Matter it will not love pretend nothing—
There it is
Let the world be clear.

The third day I rise alive
Bed not mine
Sheets clean white
Singing,
    Under which sky did you love once?
    Loving pretending and pretending loving?
Clock is ticking bounding sinking drowning.
A shell of its former self sits on the table.
    Stained with the truest love.
Comprehension indeed must birth curiosity.
Format fades and incoherency invades.
Never made sense anyways.
Yet to love it is not lovingly giving.
To love is not lovingly taking.
To knows someone else may have an answer—
Singing never was for me.
Pretending to care pretending to be cared.
    They love singing and dancing about loving and pretending.
I despise the third day.
    Cut.

Last day I rise, unfulfilled
Desire unaccomplished, request unmet
Like a joke destiny has played
    To leave is to stop pretending, stop loving
Yet what thing else could I?
Cower in this unfamiliar place
Like a fragile infant
In disgrace?
Or simply speak to the carer of this place
That one ought not to live who desiren't life
I cower in what may be
At last
Neither path forward nor backward, stuck in time
In the dream we call living
Bound to endless identical halls
Sealed to an eternity of loss
Now, upon this place of reflection and peace
Naught remains but a stained past
The blinding color of red
CAPTCHA Preview
Type the characters you see in the picture
Required