Is this some kind of a joke?
Every happenings made me choke
Is this for real?
Happiness is the thing I wanted to steal
I am trying to avoid
Turns out, I'm being paranoid
I don't want to talk
But they've drained me like a chalk
Quiet is what I wanted
I am still bombarded
Unending nonsensical conversations
Caused me to create numerous imaginations
A little bit lucky
That some wanted to talk to me
I really hated fake people
Most of them are very predictable
YOU ARE READING
POM POEMS
PoetryFeelings turned into words; squeezed from experiences (FINISHED since these were the thoughts from my young mind)
