I write better than what reality has given me.
My stories are sex, sin, and tragedy.
And yet the story they unfold,
Is almost always better than my own.
My story of gabriel kelly ends in suicide,
His 20 year life was better than mine.
I crush hydos and snort them in my bathroom,
I show up at school hungover with a boyfriend not fit to be a groom.
I might be knocked up,
But that's a secret shut up.
Vodka, lighter fluid and sexual overdrive.
Tonight I just might end my life.
Can't even tell if this is a dream.
Why won't god just tell me what it means?
This water is heating up,
How'd the water change to blood?
I think I need to lay the fuck down.
Hopefully I'll wake up without my crown.
YOU ARE READING
Honesty Hour
PoetryI'm a liar. A dirty, dirty, secretive liar. The only honesty about me is shown through my writing. (yes the cover is a selfie I don't know how to do covers I'll change it later)
