What was so wrong with me
Wanting to give back,
To someone who never got anything?
They may be dead,
But we are all dying.Maybe when i'm dead,
Some stranger will feel compelled to sit with me.
finally get to know who i really am.
Even if they are talking to a mossy gravestone.
YOU ARE READING
Acosmist Dysphoria
PoetryAcosmist Dysphoria The writings of an uneasy adolescent Who believes in nothing.