He's... Oversensitive.
//
Sometimes that means
That something very little
Like not solving a maths sum
Could thrust him into a sea
Of melancholic thinking.
//
But right now,
As he wears a smile so wide
As his mind is flowered
With the blossoming of lavender-scented autotrophs
His oversensitivity doesn't suck
It's a drug that's so buff
His happiness can't be demeaned by Puck.
//
His oversensitivity
Is a brief imagination
Of his poetry book touching people
And the dilation of his black pupils
Flooding his veins
With euphoria so strong
That you'd think he used a bong.
