Worms – Twisted Prose

I silently stood within this suit I call me and cradled the child I was as he disappeared inside,

no warning or ignorance,

no standing ovation or cheer,

the adult that I am forgets or refuses to connect the dots of who I was to who I am,

layered hate,

flimsily forgetfulness,

bathed in the stink of what I cannot be,

and who I cannot see,

laboured moments,

a mess of pathetic personified,

I wish,

I want,

I forget,

I am who I never dreamed I’d be…

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