Money is just paper. But it affects people like poetry.
It is peculiar how different feelings feel.
Each specific sensation submerging me under the callus waves of doubt,
Showing off in all its wonder
The iridescent shades of nostalgia.
What do I call you?
What do I keep you as?
A moment for reminiscing?
Nostalgia, thats what you are.
Deliciously sickly sweet.
A figure of everything I could ever of wished to be.
Captured. Bewitched by your spirit,
Succumbed to your overwhelming desire to see love and light.
Another slave to the effortless power you encapsulated upon entering every room.
I adore you and everything you are.
I think were soul friends.
We’ve been reincarnated and friends the whole time.
I think I made you up inside my head.
A bloody scab on my temple, making the world beautifully unbalanced.
But now I worship your ghost.
You cursed me with this constant reminder of eternal sunshine,
But all I see in my reflection, is the thing I always promised you I wouldn’t be.
Reality hit me hard.
I am toxic.