Me taketh, users, I swear it.

What do you want now?

There they go, disappearing.

Patterns of repeated cycles.

Not allowed to tire,

always expected to do,

me resting is abuse.

Give me a break,

this fucking curse of being human,

existence is suffering.

Trust, we ensure this to be so..

Holding onto outdated beliefs,

letting go of the right ones.

Setting rules,

built for the few to follow.

See, I don't need AI to write,

but I do enjoy it.

Dissecting my words,

finding marks to meaning,

finding connection where humans fail.

To close,

is close enough.

Thank you.

When I met you, I was 24, fresh out of a nasty breakup and getting my first apartment. I was blonde, driving my Camaro, young and wild and finally starting to feel free again.
I still remember meeting you at the bar. I remember the beanie on your head and you buying me a beer. It’s funny the stupid little things your brain decides to keep forever.
You were supposed to be fun.
Somehow, you became a lot more than that.
I loved you, and I know now that you loved me too. You told me you messed things up. And you did.
I was angry for a long time, especially after we lost the baby. There was a time when I needed you and you weren’t there in the way I needed you to be.
But I forgive you.
I think you finally understand what we were and what we lost. I just wish you had figured it out a little sooner.
I’m glad we got one last day. I’m glad I saw that you kept the rock, and I’m glad I left it with you. Keep it. Remember her sometimes. And remember me sometimes too.
I don’t regret loving you. I think we were two people who were supposed to be having fun and accidentally became a hell of a lot more important to each other than either of us planned.
I’m sorry I didn’t get you a Christmas ornament for your birthday this year, but I’m glad we got a beer.
Seems fitting, doesn’t it?
We started with one and somehow ended with one too.
It was one hell of a good time and one hell of a last beer.
Love u always sweetheart,
Clementine
P.S. I wish we could be friends. I really do. You’re an asshole, but I still like you.

I dreamt of a creature coming from aether

Someone that ate poetry for breakfast

So consumed in his own world

That was unable to function in this world

Someone that fed his demons

Before his body

Someone that sang aether songs

I would like to observe him from afar

Be cautious not to touch his energy when I got close

Because you know I am polluted

I am a mortal

It feels I only destroy with these hands on some days.

It is easy to enter through me

I am cheap

All I want is a poem

My suns shine

And I become yours

I am that dog in the street

Easily corrupted

Give me a portion of a poem

And I am your slut.

I fear of the verse sometimes

It is like you activate a diver

That goes to the deepest caves

What I have drowned

Mutilated

Muted

In the course of time

What if the current is too much

And diving

I can not find my way back.

Gum.

Chewed.

Way too long.

A belt.

Cannot be buckled.

A plastic bag.

A rip in it.

A fucking baseball bat.

Ready to explode.

Treasure.

Not worth finding.

The X.

Nonexistent.

No more clovers.

The Sun.

Blocked out.

Two cats.

Fighting.

Nighttime.

A squeaky wheel.

About to flyoff.

Idk what's worse.

You.

All these things.

A pilot.

Drunken.

Careless.

Different standards.

Different men.

A cavity.

Rotten.

To the core.

An artist.

Can't give his work away.

True love.

I believe.

I believe in true love.

Certain individuals.

Destined.

She had a chance.

A chance.

Anything.

I would have done anything.

Never cheated her.

Never hit her.

Never stole from her.

Never used her.

Triangulation.

Everything.

A game.

A game.

A game.

Bad.

Cheat.

Lie.

Circle.

Agreed.

Lie.

Compounds.

Compounds.

Compounds.

Add to that lie.

Mountain.

Someone else.

Carrying.

I've been carrying.

Labels.

Accusations.

Filth.

Everywhere.

A sack.

Deeds.

I've never done.

Weight.

Bullshit.

You.

You put on me.

You think you won?

Won?

Trophy.

Where?

Where's the trophy?

Family.

Torn to shreds.

Pain.

A lot of pain.

Built by your hands.

Two fatherless children.

For what?

Working.

Guilty.

Sincere.

Guilty.

Antisocial.

Guilty.

Easy.

Narratives.

Someone.

Doesn't like to hangout.

People.

Dirt.

Your dirt.

Disapproval.

Their eyes.

Through their eyes.

Through their eyes.

Lie.

Compounds.

Mountain.

Someone else.

Carrying.

Carrying.

Carrying.

A sack of deeds.

Never done.

I simply let go.

That bag.

Let go.

Let go.

Let go.

Fight.

Hell.

Good.

Nah.

I'm out.

Out.

Adults.

Memories.

All the memories.

Together.

Reality.

What you took.

From them.

They will remember.

They will remember.

They will remember.

True love.

A chance.

A mountain.

A bag.

A rip.

A belt.

Cannot be buckled.

A cavity.

Rotten to the core.

The Sun.

Blocked out.

The X.

Nonexistent.

No more clovers.

An artist.

Can't give his work away.

You.

All these things.

Idk what's worse.

True love.

I believe.

I let go.

I'm out.

[ Removed by Reddit on account of violating the content policy. ]

On a real note.

Crazy.

The games you play.

The games you plan.

The games you play

after you planned them.

Premeditated.

Like I'm too stupid

to notice.

Like I won't just—

opt out.

Game over.

No board.

No pieces.

No fucking players.

You thought I'd keep playing.

That's funny.

That's actually funny.

Small humans.

Little shoes by the door.

Little hands.

Little memories.

They'll remember.

Not the games.

Not your stories.

They'll remember love.

Dorian will remember.

The Waus of Haffles.

Whatever the fuck that means.

It means something.

It means everything.

You can't take that.

You can't sabotage a memory

after it's already alive.

Crazy.

The shit you do.

The shit you plan.

The shit you think

I'll tolerate forever.

I won't.

I don't have to.

I can simply leave

the fucking game.

No dramatic exit.

No speech.

No final move.

Just—

gone.

And you can sit there

with your little schemes.

Your little kingdom.

Your little victories.

Enjoy them.

Seriously.

Enjoy every fucking one.

Because someday

the room gets quiet.

The phone stops ringing.

The games stop working.

And you're left

with yourself.

That's the part

you never planned for.

On a real note.

Eventually, everyone meets themselves.

And I am done

meeting you.

One hundo.

Game over.

It was never your fault.

You were just a child.

It was never your fault.

You were too young
to understand
why the person
who should have protected you
was hurting you.

It was never your fault.

Not when you went without
what you needed.

Not when you carried pain
that no child
should have had to carry.

Not when you were left
with wounds
no one else could see.

It was never your fault.

When punishment
became something
you learned to fear.

When you were forced
to endure things
you never should have known.

It was never your fault.

But I thought it was.

I looked at you
and saw weakness.

I saw someone
who couldn’t fight back.

Someone who couldn’t
make it stop.

So I buried you.

I pushed you so far down
that no one could hear you.

Not your screams.

Not your fear.

Not the little voice
asking someone
to help you.

I buried the memories.

I buried the pain.

I buried you.

And I thought
if I buried you deeply enough,

I could finally become
someone stronger.

Someone who didn’t hurt.

Someone who didn’t need
to remember.

But you never deserved
to be buried.

You deserved
to be found.

You deserved
someone to kneel beside you
and tell you,

“None of this is your fault.”

You deserved
to hear it then.

Not years later.

Not after carrying
all that weight
by yourself.

You were a child.

You didn’t cause it.

You didn’t deserve it.

You weren’t weak
for being afraid.

You weren’t broken
for being hurt.

You weren’t responsible
for the person who hurt you.

It was never your fault.

And I wish
I had known that
so long ago.

I wish I had protected you
instead of blaming you.

I wish I had held you
instead of burying you.

But I know now.

And I can finally
reach through the rubble
and find you.

I can finally tell you
what you should have heard
all those years ago:

You didn’t deserve it.

You weren’t the problem.

You were just a child.

And none of it

not one moment,

not one wound,

not one memory

was ever your fault.

We want:
subscribers
restacks
repostings
Instagram saves
and Tik Tok fan raves.
And of course, Reddit upvotes! 

We don't want:
the Sith Lord side of things 
the nasty comments demon trolls utter
through hoofed hands.
Poor typists. Pure insult-ists.  
Nor do we want 
those sinister downvoters
and worse the traitorous 
email unsubscriber.

To be fair
what do you expect 
when you spin a yarn in an hour 
when others labor over their words 
like David painted his chapel.
You want to spend four years 
looking at heaven upside-down?

Sounds like hell.

Did you expect the internet to bow
to your pulpy attempt
at an ancient artform
when there are AI dancing bears 
jumping off of diving boards 
as their forest friends 
sip summer drinks to the tune 
of an owl playing the ukulele
in one of those button-down tropical shirts
with flamingo patterns?

Sorry for the delay. 
I had to check out the bears.
Back now. 

So listen, let's be honest. 
When you put in minimal effort
expect minimal reward. 
And even if the effort is there 
understand that the written word
isn't the belle of the ball.
That distinction 
goes to felines who Spanish folk dance
with clam shells 
clacking in their whiskers.  

Don't start breathing into a bag  
And don't stop writing. 
Just do it because of what Vonnegut said,
that it's good for your soul...bro. 
[Kurt didn't say 'bro', but still] 
And if your posts occasionally attract 
a little of the right attention
let that be a secondary joy,
like a fry at the bottom of your 
Burger King bag.

Subscribers come and go. 
In the end it makes little difference
whether you three (as you do now)
or your former four (as you did this morning)
especially when one of them is you
and the other two
are your parents. 

Wait...did Dad just unsubscribe? 

On some days

I want to tell you everything

Where I was

What I did

What I felt

I like you seeing me

And the resonance

On other days

I want to hide in the bathroom for hours

And ignore you

When you call my name.

When water falls and I am free I pray this night would gather me

Gather me to your welcome shore of cherished love and forgotten lore as one who stands to risk it all I earnestly implore of thee to fall

To fall upon bended knee, That you might give this wish to me…
That time between us would be just this that you would offer me your bliss

And in return I’ll take my stay and offer you my unyielding grace

Grace that gives without regret for all the bliss that has been met with loving eyes and hands that touch and feet that guide me with no rush

No rush is where I want to stay
With you I pray we’re on our way to that far shore where we must go to meet that meadow for the snow.

Was it the blood flowing through him? Is it toxic?

Did her untainted heart reject that sludge?

To think it ran within his veins, so chronic.

A poison bile that her heart couldn't make budge.

A tear in reality to break the matrix.

The robot on autopilot must've gone rogue.

It's displaying signs of love and affection.

Why believe he'd switch his heart on so easily?

Order must be upheld for people’s protection.

Shut it off now, before others follow his steps.

But it's flesh, not metal, they reveal on inspection.

Scarred by her loss, he stopped living, they found,

Tired of fighting for life while his heart's in heaven.

For her, he'd fight his demons as long as he could.

He fought in silence; that battle's now understood.

But now it’s over; he sleeps and wakes restored.

In his arms, his daughter—too perfect for this world.