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April 15, 2024

As is

By Charles Cicirella

As is

Broken and don't remember how to cry
I hate memories that leave an aftertaste like diet soda
Fake chocolate was made by sadists whose own mothers didn't love them

We can agree to disagree or we can slink away in mutual bouts of shame and embarrassed tremors of whimsy as we sit on the pot and start peeing like a real goy
I remember the first time you uttered the words I love you and how it felt more like a question than a true declaration of love
I can't climb the rope because my hands are made from ground beef

School always seemed like an enduring session of torture or dodgeball with the pent up nuns from across the courtyard
I know next to nothing makes sense to you when it comes to how I choose to express myself while I misremember my disemboweled past
All I know how to do is shout and that's neither constructive nor destructive if you happen to be an anarchist

Unpaved like a road in need of immediate repair Sometimes I feel like chucking it all in and doing my best to forgive and forget that I'm the chosen one
It's a lot to lay on a person especially when that person already suffers from a Napoleon complex the size of the Northern Hemisphere

I've never seen myself as a person of short stature because I honestly don't know what that means
You lost me when you pulled out a voodoo doll and started to look for any stray pins or needles
Fake people can choke on their fake words as they wait for their fake gods to deliver them from their fake hells on this here spoiled Earth.

Article © Charles Cicirella. All rights reserved.
Published on 2020-08-17
Image(s) © Sand Pilarski. All rights reserved.
1 Reader Comments
03:51:58 AM
Spectacular image!
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