off a thirty-milligram, making all these grand plans; drop those rose-coloured glasses and TAKE a STAND:
K.A.R., burn them all to the ground, searching corpses in the lost and found.
everyone's screaming, telling me to come down
i cannot hear you, head's in the clouds
tell me what i already know,
it's all just for fucking show!-
and i just wanna take the edge off, you wanna push me over,
found his broken heart beneath a four-leaf clover
bled him dry of tainted blood, with two unkind words:
we're over.
YOU ARE READING
unalive
Poetrya collection of poems by Natasha Knemeyer, inspired by Thomas Swanick, dedicated to survivors' club, or if anyone else wishes to read it
