Too young to get serious
Too old to play
I’m probing for a middle ground
Yet I grasped none.
I fidgeted my brain with countless tap
Wishing for it to puke rainbows and unicorns
I sauntered on levitation
And everything fell in a slow-mo of cliché
I myself is baffled with my thoughts
I settled for vagueness
Until I lost track of my own motifs
Oblivion and its pungent taste, melted in my tongue
Sure I’m going to puke neither unicorns nor rainbows
But more likely a buttery goo of pride and ignominy
I stare back to my paper
It sees the pit I try to conceal
Between my finger and pen are the things I enshroud
And they stay where I left them.
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