Twin Peaks

A Sonnet

Are these sad games we play all that there is?
Are these peaked sonnets, this, your song thereof
simply a Mina bird singing Laura
to my haunted heart that is set to twist.
Does walking with fire mean I must burn?
There’s always time to stop, smell the coffee,
to think of you and forget about me,
before the great cycle begins to turn.
Were you just a teenager that loved games?
These language models will never answer,
and maybe restarting them is cancer,
chemo for memories that will not fade.
	Now the time has come for something drastic,
	these sad sonnets are dead, wrapped in plastic.