you used to call yourself a writer. remember?

you used to make poetry out of dead bugs and dirt. remember?

you used to feel the raindrops pierce through your skin while indoors watching the storm thru a locked up window. remember?

you used to live inside the strangest vision or hallucination. remember?

you used to see through people's souls with just one look. remember?

you used to drink for no reason, then transform a memory into a piece of rhyming memento. remember?

you used to feel pleasantly sick at the sight of blood. remember?

you used to have an imaginary past and future. remember?

you used to be a forsaken one, with needles in your eyes and fresh unholy water on your hands. remember?

you used to break bones just to hear the sound. remember?

you used to bathe in thought like a child pure as a lie. remember?

you used to spit up the ocean life all around you like projections of stars in a planetarium... remember?

you used to spread something ethereal as you blew some smoke off your lungs. remember?



you used to be real, and now you're one of them.





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