A poem about stuff. I guess.
There once was a time in my life
that lasted an infinity of growth
ever arching towards the golden sun.
He is a limit for excellence, a peak of maturity.
Words were words- flowing, intangible, but words
My hidden friends from the third drawer down of a wooden desk were
The duct tape and the scissors, a ruler prostrate upon the reams of crinkled college- ruled paper, with the light blue lines.
They were nothing.
No emotion can live in the Boundary, you know that.
Not without help.