We can be weird,
With fire in my hair,
And dragons in my lair
With scars on our knees,
And enemies floating like bees
With a fractured collar bone,
and everything we've ever known,
out in the atmosphere,
we got to run from here
We may even have to hurdle,
And meet someone named Myrtle
She may be the death of us,
But we hopped on a bus,
And rode it to the center,
met a mentor,
who now runs,
Around the nuns
The clock is ticking,
Our feet are kicking,
Up dirt,
while we run from hurt,
Because we are too weird,
To live with smeared,
Ash on our faces,
And this must remain as one of those closed cases.
YOU ARE READING
Stuck In The Mind
PuisiA poetry book of thoughts in my head, My own work but the cover is made by someone else. This is just a tiny glimpse of what my mind is like. I'm not stuck in the mud, I'm Stuck In The Mind.
