Poem | found my voice while writing smut

Sentiments of scenes expired

pay little attention

to the details

of life.

As facsimiles

are similar

and falsities,

the truth

A copies

re-invention

from the blue-prints

of me.

It’s them who become

characters, who’ll

deceive you

into writing them

into existence.

No different

to you

and

me.

Recycled moments known,

who’s composition better.

Payed for in full,

with the receipt

kept safe.

Exchanged for good scenes,

good characters,

and moments.

For moments known

in passing,

passed between us

become real.

In memory,

the remnants

of allegory.

Meaning distilled.

Once apprehended

overwhelmed,

discovered fraudulent,

Yet emerge validated.

As it is; writing is

simultaneously

the build up of

dead skin

on the souls

of my feet,

and the only thing

I’ve truly got

to give.

…