Ya boi looking kinda ugly with that emerald green, know what I mean? Envy all of my dreams. I'm tryna cut people off at the seams, if it's meant it's meant or so it'd seem. You couldn't sell me things of beauty even if I knew what that means.
Tired of all the stares, wonders, or cares. Boy, Girl, Straight, gay? What if I went neither way; I still couldn't say.
Keep talking, keep speaking, wait one day and I might just get even awaken in me the demon and wrath so lethargic, death would be cathartic at the pace that I go and wouldn't you know what I mean? So it seems, so it sings. The stings of different things.
I got two on the red head one with the horns they call me cauliflower I'm rife with thorns I couldn't tower high so I wont even try; I'd dream every day but always I die, why O' why is my dear ol dad, not here.
I so-and-so till I can't sew no more, I got called several names. Choose, fag or whore? Ya dude looking dud and the thuds all around.
Do you think the screams will drown out the sounds of when I splash to the ground?
YOU ARE READING
Melodrama!
Poetrya series of embarrassing thoughts about my childhood and high school.
