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Sofia (Working Title)IntroMy name is Sofia Grace Price, and I am pansexual.If you are religious, what follows will offend you so much more than my first statement, so I strongly suggest that you find something else entirely to read. This will piss you off and offend you, and I really don't feel like listening to the word of Our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ. I've heard it all before, and I'm just not interested. Here's the door. ***Insert picture of door here*** Good day.For the rest of you, welcome to my corner of this obscure and twisted universe. I hope you enjoy your stay.PrologueHas no one ever told youyou're be
Your Side of the MirrorWe blinked,synchronized perfectly,And our movements matched exquisitelyAt the speed of light.My heart raced as I reached to touch the glass,Ever so lightly,With the tips of my fingers,And it froze momentarily,When I realized that yours followed through.When I pushed against it,In an attempt to feel your heat,I found that I couldn't reach,And that this contact was an illusion.My heart broke;Shattered like glass,And the shards followed youTo your side of the mirrorAnd the shards of yours,Unseen,Remained in your chest.
AsleepThe last time I woke up,I floatedBecause you weren't thereTo keep me sane.I drifted through the ceiling and watchedAs my body lay still on the bedBecause my soul missed youAnd decided to bring you home.The last time I sleptI sank into the laminate floorAnd it cradled me,And I drowned looking for your bones.I imagined a place where,As we ebb apart,The distance from A to B becomes zero,And the space between usIs filled with dreams.
Generally MeI'm a general poetand a general bore.A general childand a general whore.A general actresswith a general mask,a general slavewith a general task.I'm a general liarwho speaks the general truthwith general mannersbut generally uncouth.A general tyrantwith a general heart,still a general audiencewith a general part.I'm a general idiotwith a general brain.I'm generally healthybut generally insane.
ConfusionConfusionpoured from a soup tureenwhy didn't you use the ladel?That's rightit is not something that can be containedby a tool so shallow...Then why is it that,when I see you,when you rest your head on the tableand say your words so softly,that I want to cry?Perhaps I've had my fillof something that takes no space...that would explain the emptiness inside,which, of course,should not be confused with stillness.When you leaveonly to come back in the same instantand sit down to read a page from my bookeverything becomes blurryand I take a picturejust to make surethat what I feel is clear.