11/16/17 (Author's note included in conversations section of profile.)
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Dysphoria
Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the manliest of them all?
Mirror, mirror on the wall, can I ram my head into you and let my blood fall...
Fall down my forehead.
Down, down, down it goes, heavy like lead,
And soon the dollops of fat on my chest pursue.
After all, they don't have a use.
Not long after my voice will begin to fumble,
My voice will become more than a deep mumble,
And I will not be mistaken.
All that was taken,
All that was forsaken,
Will be given to me like it should've been...
But, for now, the fleeting seconds will be my win.
The occasional sir,
And the accompanying whirr-
One that resonates in my head,
And, let me tell you, friend...
My heart will never mend,
But my soul I can still lend,
My love I can still send,
And myself I can fend.
Will I be happy?
No, nor can I be sappy.
I can be me,
Just a lost boy,
Someone's toy,
And a lost cause.
YOU ARE READING
Warm-Ups
RandomThis is where I'm just depositing the little things I'm writing based off of words and what they make me think of, and I'm doing this to get into the writing mood.
