She was jaded
A person who never faded
Her problems were perhaps myriad
She dotted her I's with a period
She crossed her t's with swirl
A glass table, her body hurled
She saw her favourite colour red
And then finally she was dead
Looked at constantly by college boys
She was their 16 year old toy
How disgusting she felt
But popularity is all she dealt
She lived a phantom life
And watched as her friends
Passed on the knife
Heather only lived
Till junior year
And that's why we
Are all gathered here
YOU ARE READING
Less Serious Poetry
PoetryThese are the poems I write perhaps based off of song lyrics, characters, or anything silly that just doesn't belong in my actual poetry book.
