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Superstition

I Was Cosigned

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I Was CosignedA poemby SuperstitionHuddled in the dim living room, back to the radiatorI take another gulp of my gin and Lucozade.Add Reply.Classic Black background, mercifully darkUnlike the offensive glare of the hallway lightFrames my new offeringSuddenly, mind fills with regret and self-doubtWill this contribution please them?Will my compositionAgonised over for the best part of an hourBe enough?Minutes tick byI begin to panicStupid, stupid. Why did you write that?Is it too late to edit?Too late to delete?Has somebody seen it?Has somebody called me a neek?A fragile, twitching finger closes in on F5Whatever refreshesPixels arrange themselves in the same patterns.Disheartened.But what's this? A reply? Click.Eyes flicker to the new additionTucked geometrically under a quote of my postIt reads, "C/S"Beautiful, merciful C/S.Can the mind fathom two sweeter lettersTo be bisected by misapplied punctuation?Chest swells with pride.Acceptance. Approval. Affirmation.Deep breath. The air is a touch sweeter.I knock back the remainder of my gin and Lucozade.Retire to bed, proudI was cosigned.

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LOLBig.I pictured you reading it like this still.

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Minutes tick byI begin to panicStupid, stupid. Why did you write that?Is it too late to edit?Too late to delete?Has somebody seen it?Has somebody called me a neek?Beautiful, merciful C/S.Can the mind fathom two sweeter lettersTo be bisected by misapplied punctuation?
:lol: :lol: :lol:

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I Was CosignedA poemby SuperstitionHuddled in the dim living room, back to the radiatorI take another gulp of my gin and Lucozade.Add Reply.Classic Black background, mercifully darkUnlike the offensive glare of the hallway lightFrames my new offeringSuddenly, mind fills with regret and self-doubtWill this contribution please them?Will my compositionAgonised over for the best part of an hourBe enough?Minutes tick byI begin to panicStupid, stupid. Why did you write that?Is it too late to edit?Too late to delete?Has somebody seen it?Has somebody called me a neek?A fragile, twitching finger closes in on F5Whatever refreshesPixels arrange themselves in the same patterns.Disheartened.But what's this? A reply? Click.Eyes flicker to the new additionTucked geometrically under a quote of my postIt reads, "C/S"Beautiful, merciful C/S.Can the mind fathom two sweeter lettersTo be bisected by misapplied punctuation?Chest swells with pride.Acceptance. Approval. Affirmation.Deep breath. The air is a touch sweeter.I knock back the remainder of my gin and Lucozade.Retire to bed, proudI was cosigned.
c/s

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:confused: Lameness.
My wrists bear the scars inflicted by people like youI'll have the last laughOne day my vinegary pubes will marinate in your soupAs sure as the sun will rise.*cue emo music*

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