him, him and him
they all got mad at me
they all lashed out at me
they all look past me
like i don't exist
they pretend their eyes don't know me
instead they like the floor better
and decide to sit some place else
i've done them all wrong
again they've returned the favor
but i can tell when i sit across from them
they still hate me inside
i feel fear
sitting with all of them
feeling their dark thoughts
thinking i've run out of friends
cause one day they'll up and leave
they'll get tired of my antics
excited, they'll talk all about me
about all the awful things i've done
then they'll giggle all week
burning their eyes into me
hiding their intense pleasure that comes with what they know:
how their plans to hurt me will work
YOU ARE READING
𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚌
Poetrystatic stat·ic ˈstat-ik. adjective characterized by a lack of movement or change trigger warning: read at your own risk! | just an unnecessarily long collection of me trying to get over my feelings
