Something happens, and I am reminded that
all of the good words have been taken by the 80s.
I can’t write you a heavy synth song, penned in black kohl;
can’t dip my heart into inderivative hair dye—
there’s no such thing, really.
***
Something happens, and I am reminded that
I can’t call you.
***
Something happens, and I am reminded that
I can’t hug you.
***
Something happens, and I remember that
I’d forgotten to miss you for 5 whole fucking minutes.
***
There are 300 seconds in 5 fucking minutes, and 3,600 seconds in 1 hour, which means there are 86,400 seconds in 24 hours, or 1,440 fucking minutes in a goddamned day, which means there’s a lot of fucking time spent forgetting to remember that you’re dead.
***
And I can’t even manage to write you a love song.
(image: slate.com)
🙏✌
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Why is your blog so black. Love this poem it’s very soft
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I’m fond of the color black. Thanks for reading, Kindra is bloody genius
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yea i could see. Blacks a nice colour though. It’s safe
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Thanks, my bro! ❤
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👍
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Thank you!
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