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The Forbidden MAG
Why do I have this infatuation with the deceitful?
Lately I've allowed myself to see the evil in things,
To see the truth in all the riddles,
To lift up the rug and reveal the dust mites.
That I have reached the age
When safety's appeal bleeds through the ink of my pen
And danger dances in front of me like the yarn of a cat's eye.
To walk across the ocean
Barefoot and alongside my long-lost accomplice.
To see through the looking glass,
Past all the haze that used to suspend above my childhood memories.
To bite into the world's apple
And feel its juice run down my chin.
Why do I run a fine-tooth comb under every faucet
That drips with remedies of the forbidden?
Why do I finally think that it is finally time
To speak out loud rather than whisper
At the table across from my fellow adolescent?
I am so young,
I am so innocent.
I am so simplified.
I am so impressionable.
But little do they know
I have started to walk into rooms with X-ray vision
And lick the honey off of
The stick beside my morning cup of black coffee.