They can all sit and rot, 
trying to tell me that I am  
what I am not. 

Shut me out;  
I see all of these bridges they built
burning down to the ground in my thoughts. 

Shut your mouth; 
my cup of coffee accompanied 
by the authors of every petty plot. 

Close my eyes; 
your smirk is still a picture 
that's been permanently etched beneath my eyelids.  

I know I can't forget
and so I don't try it. 
Stranded on a glass island, 
in solitude I can imagine (What's waiting there?) 
what lies behind your iris. (What's waiting there?) 

Tongues dripping with violence, 
your cherry blossom breath 
seeps like cyanide, 
perfume my skin.  

And I hear your whisper, 
"Will you let me in?" 
and this is my answer, 
"The door's been wide open, 
when can we begin?"

Written by pen name Jungle (N.F.N.) 
(C) 2021 all rights reserved

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