In the night everything is tinted:
Like a white-wash cycle featuring a rogue sock.
Hued in midnight-black; all things become
Sinister versions of their illuminated selves.

Look back on your memories,
And the things you’ve kept to remember them.
Tarnished is just another word for used.
And with use come experiences:
The things we truly treasure.

Technology will

Let
us
down
in
the
end.

Mice, nice without a hefty price.
Fed, bred, now millions are dead.

Standing on a stool, broomstick in hand,
From here one human drew up a plan,
To cultivate a crop… of creatures.
Similar in genes but without our face;
The real guinea-pigs of the human race.

Around my wrist there is a band:
*TIL CAMERON’S GONE*
Or maybe I’ll go first.
(Isn’t that exactly what he wants?)

You left something behind,
As you stepped off the train;
An impression on my heart.
If I only knew your name.

Childhoods spent dreaming in crayon.
As adults, we’re forced to mould ourselves;
Forgetting that our tools should flex and break
Not our spirits.

[Picture Poem] - Super Power by @esceulus

A question mark
Of pity, pain and panic,
The unschooled learn from others.

The exclamation mark:
Days spent worrying,
Hoping that it comes.

Then years of ellipses:
Regular. Manageable. perhaps…
Occasionally an internal torture.
 
Then comes menopause:
Changing your period
Into a full-stop.