Mr. Poetry

Last call

So there I was again, in the middle of the scene wondering which hell came first. I do believe that this has got something to do with winning that court ball but basketball which was neither my forte. So I sat at the bench, people been calling me "the seater" because I wasn't good enough. I wasn't at first.

But mother wasn't saying anything good either. She just drink and gamble and drunk withering the plants at our backyard. It was suspicous at first but randomly my thought couldn't be so skeptic.

Deep.

Down the rabbit hole, I was scared of loosing my father due of cancer. It was sad to know his smile couldn't fill my days any longer.

He was a manwhore, I believe. When mother got her teacups stolen by the playground, Sasha played often. I do not know who kept it tucked at their cabin but I am certain it got something to do with that boy whose first name starts with S rhymes the word Snake.

I was shaking sitting on the bench for hours and hours god knows I bid my time trying too hard to be one of them. But it is just balls and hand gestures, and coaches screaming at their members and members fucking their friend's friend.

I admit it was messed up of a story one I like to share but then again, who am I to kid around anyway?

So this head of mine is a make-believe, one thought so wrongly.