I bought myself a cake
To see if it made me feel awake
It sat on the counter
As if waiting for a counter-offer
None arrived but a few fruit flies on the cover
It was still tasty
Although the tears added a salty crunch
All that remained was a hunch
That things would somehow get better
And all that remained was the black letter
Wishing a false narrative
And, then I ate the cake
Categories: Culture, identity, mental health, Poetry, Psychology
A Place Where
Cake Doesnβt
Even Touch Love
That You Taste Cake π
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Intriguing!
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you write so well
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Sweet post πππΉ
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