.graffiti.
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Nick is tired. Tired of drawing on the walls, never being heard, always being ignored. He hates seeing graffiti. Nick knows. He knows it's the cries of the lonely to be heard. A cry he's learned the language of. A cry he wants to never hear again. Nick is tired, but he doubts anything is ever going to stop that feeling. Not, at least, until the day he dies.
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asianamerican
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this will be a part two to my other set of poems. please read them but they are not needed to understand these. These will be much sadder than my original ones usually.

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