I used to say I count when I'm broken
I also used to say I don't hate him I loathe him
But it's been a while since the last time I counted
The probability of things getting better I doubted
And I don't quite loathe him anymore
I just pity because his brain kinda threw him ashore
I really can't say I enjoy his presence
His breathing alone takes away all pleasance
He isn't much different from everyone else
All of them are proud to show what they sell
And they can't keep their eyes to themselves
For fear of someone looking under their shelves
Turn away
Keep your eyes to yourself, okay?
YOU ARE READING
The Weeping Woods
PuisiAgony in the form of stanzas, words in the form of little silent cries. I made the cover but I don't own any of the pictures. !There's also quite a bit of explicit language!
