Whisper whisper whisper, I hear behind my back. Oh how they try to keep quiet but their voices play like an endless soundtrack. That gives me the diagnosis of an insomniac.
Their cruel words, don't hurt me, more so that it's said behind my back. The cold chills given, gives me nothing but panic attacks.
If they have an issue, if they have to sprout crap. Just say it to my face and not behind my back
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MindFulMess .5 (Growing up Series)
PoetryForget Mindfulness My mind Is A Mess Growing Up Book Series's .5
