all we can do is remember our past.
crying about our childhood, even if it was good.
we gave up our chances to be princes and princesses
to become monsters with forbidden knowledge;
daddy's little faerie queen grew into a prom dress,
while mom's little prince now drives a car.
the sun slowly sets over their heads,
the warm glow filtering through their skin;
but nothing could compare to the times they played,
crashing dolls into cars and building castles out of blocks,
creating a universe,
that only serves to remind us in the end,
that our destruction was meant to be.
no one told us the day had to end,
but when we woke the next morning,
we knew it had to go;
a longing for information was rising up,
as if someone were building us like a house;
creating their dream every year of our lives,
and watching it age right before their eyes.
The Human House
Moderator: Celestial Dung
The Human House
Sapienter commeo lente; aiunt offendo adeo terga celer.
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