There was a time when we sang lullabies.
Artificial – be it, yet magically believable emotions
ran wild on our skins, in our
were eons ago. Now you and I
are just a mix of yellow wallpapers
and history books; the purpose lost, the intent
buried, the spark dead.
We are just timid memories, not asinine, not pungent
not the least repulsive. We are bubbles that forgot
to breathe unto air.
We are just a notion of us, of what was, and
what could never be.