i'm good at giving insults because i've been given so many.
i'm sympathetic of the hurting because i've known enough hurt for an entire country.
i know i can't help them because nobody could help me.
i don't try to fit in because even my mother told me that i never will.
they should know to leave me alone, so they get no chances when they approach me.
who can really give me a definition of true happiness?
YOU ARE READING
A Little Thing Called Death
Poetryi won't explain many of these. they are for you to work out and they'll probably mean something different to everyone. (i own these poems) ((FINISHED.))
