round and round my life is like a record,same thing but a different day,a different year and a different home. I have felt pain,or the scratched parts of my life's record,i'm not sure if it can even be played anymore,sat on the highest shelf,sitting there,rotting away.
days have gone by,i've tried to change my tune,but all i get is just bent up and even more dusty,as if people forgot about me,like a ghost roaming down a school hallway,nothing missed,nothing forgotten,no one is forgiven,and this ghost ain't leaving.
now i sit,now i lay,planning the day away,typing,writing,drawing and sitting,pondering at the desk,sitting in front of a computer,wondering when my life will begin,where i'll make it big,meet stars,red carpets,small and skinny,beautiful,a man that people will look up to a adore,not just some lonely soul stuck on a oily shore.
one day i'll look back to this and giggle to myself,knowing my life in a mansion is better then this one,i'll have four computer screens,hd tvs and fast cars,looking at this poem right now and say,"i've made it." with a smile.
