Nostalgia

 

The different molds of folk,

To which purpose is to deject,

To affect.

 

The different types of persons,

To which purpose is to worsen,

To affect.

 

The different types to one person,

The one that keeps you first in—

Their souls, in their minds,

To which affection aids the incline,

To which depression aids the decline,
To which smiles remind—

You of a happier time,

Where others did not exist,

Where we were two light disks,

Floating above the exosphere,

Kissing skies and jabbing fears,

A time where destination seemed clear,

She did occur, in great numbers,

In great quality,

In best quality possibly—

She would be,

The one type of too her many for me,

She would wear the face of amassment in times of lament,

Inside my hallow walls, where her time be spent,

Where apologizes aplenty, she would always repent,

For my childish gestures,

She be alleviation to pressures,

Of simply life, of simply strife,

She would be the dream in my nightmare,

The rest in my sleep,

She knew where, and when to keep,

Me close…

Me first,

Now that those times have passed, this time is worse.

 

I fall into reality staring upward into my past,

From first emotion first, from last feeling last,

Staring upward into my past,

Staring upward into my past,

I do,

The infinity turns white from blue,

Then red from white,

A mixture of hopes and mights,

Or solid days and shattered nights,

I slam into the ground, broken bone, broken back,

A wide faction of numbness exact,

I am finally fine.

 

 

 

 

 

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