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