You held on to the mystery and promise
Of identity and style and subtle protest –
Held on to lemon-lime before thirst demanded obedience.
Had your sour cream and onion chips
Against the flavor of the month.

You wore your jeans and inconspicuous shirts
Trying hard against your will to admit –
This terrifying paradox of blending in and standing out –
Of persecuting Socials and Brainiacs –
Masquerading Executioner but only wanting to belong.

Only wanting to be heard — your whispered screams
Of wants and needs and cries for help and for attention
Screams you had — a subtle Silence — broken and caricatured
In paper, pen, and blood. Your words were water
Pouring forth an insignificant secrecy…a nothingness revealed.

You fought the void and in defeat you grasped
At the illusion of identity, you clawed at your own soul
Defining who you are, in desperation, through pieces unrepentant
Unrelenting, monstrous. Well, that monster died
But you hold on — some obligation to keep a legacy alive –
A dead and decomposing beast destroyed by life and age and love.

You grieve and remember what was and are not.
Maintaining the grave of your youth — embracing and cradling a corpse
Whose time had come long ago while you refuse to let go.
You are no longer as you were — to no objections but your own.
Besides, your caffeine is not lemon-lime and those cheese puffs are not chips.