flootah is a person
on their twenty-sixth version
improvements to the spine, the soul, and the skin
still acting as if nothing lies within..

we wrote in volition, and dreams, and empathy, and love
we kept their mistakes, and the darkness thereof
even with cowardice, resentment, carelessness, and hate
it's still hard to tell what they really contemplate

some things never change
even when nothing's ever finished
it's possible we'll get there_
if they had their all in it

a website is up to keep them alive [flootah.dev]
the art that they like keeps darkness deprived
and music they play to keep them sincere [last.fm]
helps them to remember the things they hold dear
i think you can find their steam profile here.

there are words upon my screen again
making me stare and think again
apparently written by someone real
i have no proof, still it makes me heal

the oled darkens, then shines new patterns
i look and harken; learn their heart is.. battered.
suddenly my screen's a mirror; i see:
just like these words...
that hurt is also in me

i told my reflection things i only wished i'd hear
and while we spoke, we smiled. and we saw each our fears
words turned to paragraphs turned to connection. true and cote
and why would two friends be less real?
whether they spoke or if they wrote?

and what does it mean
if they're here for no longer?
does that mean it's all waste?
the writing
the thoughts
when we were happy
or fought
would have it been better spent...

on what? these stupid ponders?
these poems and sites and comments and wails
looking for more words that might fill the pail..?

iunno. maybe