Writing competition 13:55, May 13, 2015 (UTC)

So soon what, so young, yet ripe, ice cream cake is melting, everybody’s leaving, what’s that on the door, I know, no I don’t, who are these people here? They don’t know why I am how I am, nor I, now here, soon there, maybe, or maybe still here, I’m a toddler in a child’s body, but treat me like I have a decade, time enough to know better, but not time enough to do better. Tuck me in tight, I might slide out, slip away in a few years, be different, forgotten, drinking under moonlight, swearing at figures in darkness, I AM NIGHTMARE, fear me, detest me, leave me alone, why am I still here? Time moves on, this isn’t something to delight in, life changes, but death will still be inevitable. There’s no light at the end of the tunnel. It’s a fluorescent tunnel, you have to squint to see, but the earth glows beneath your feet, beneath it a fire burns, these are things any child knows by age 6, wet from baptism, but faithless, innocent, free like the wind. There is no order in finding new punctuation, it’s a naturally occuring order, it is a rejected order, it propagates, outwards into space, into the aether, little pockets of gravity try to keep it bound up in a little bottle, but supernovas happen every day, no big deal, just like birthdays, this birthday is too young, influenced by ads & product placement, oh well, all well, there’s still time to not appreciate the yolk parents bear for their preprogrammed decisions. Creators must create, but it wears away their soul, so that they’re left an atheist, no longer believing there ever was a soul. Only left to suffer amongst their creation, their life’s time invested in toys, toys for toys, ad infinitum, as ad infinitum as entropy’s propagation, dizziness now, I must return to rest, go back to bed, day is over, stomach ache, too many sweets, cherish all of you, who too will die, but hopefully before the birthday child