When I leave my insane friend with a slice of cherry pie

A back and forth line by line poem with my friend.

I ate a piece of pie
and I don’t remember what flavor it was
Maybe it was ice cream pie, or sewage?
I spat it out at the thought of
sewage. Sew. Age. I sew ages on my body.
for each year, there is a new mark
of grown-upity. Is grown-upity even a word?
And this whole time I’ve been talking to myself,
am I in an insane asylum?
I don’t belong in one, but I could use a little help
AHHHHHHH.... I CAN’’TREMEBERTHEFLAVOR
And it’s messing with me while I wonder where my pie is in the first place
SPIERhajoiweturav “WEPRoit nPAOw358unqv0 ‘J;RLGKM:SELRV8EHORU
So I’ve found my pie now. It’s in the belly of the whale with me.
And I ate the whale.
And at last I’ve finished my pie and a whale, but the whale was in a large cage. So I’m trapped.
Inside myself?

The End

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