Cool

I used to think I was cool
 
for no other reason than, I wanted to be.
Then I time travelled
and became an existentialist.
Life seemed absurd
and then it was purple and covered in kisses
then there were apples and all my favourite musicians
I was sober on a rooftop with all of the amber lights staring at me while two red lights blinked
Heaven help me,
I wanted so bad to be kissed like there was no such thing as bliss;
only hers, and mine – to love and unravel
I swore that never again would I time travel
or try to be cool. 
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