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Rated: GC · Poetry · Teen · #1904482
Youthful debauchery with a sense of existential doubt and longing for childhood
I write for the debauched us who know how
I write for the decadent we who know why
Our screams to the infinite sky
Trying to find some sense of importance
Laments of our conquests carved in stoned minds
Hymns of our misfortune twinkle in disillusioned eyes

We are mirrors trying to shatter ourselves
Trying to be 100 people at once
Not just reflections reflecting reflections
Life hurts, so shed the masks
and dance around the morality bonfire

Staring at the stars we're engulfed in night
Making love, making hate, making life it's worth
The cost is more than priceless
So smoke and snort and cut
Pop and drink and fuck
Your way to happiness

We're all part of a different puzzle
and no one fits in
But instead makes a new mural
Of our strange post-childhood lives

I miss knowing nothing about the everything
Looking forward to what the passing of time will bring
I miss the magic I found tucked away in small places
I miss my innocence and the smell of lotus leaves
And like the childlike wonder I shed all the while
I miss the warmth and gentleness of a mother's smile

I don't know whether to be sad or happy to see another sunrise
In the back of my dry mouth linger the tastes of booze and nostalgia
© Copyright 2012 Micheal Kerns (mkerns at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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