And it's morning's like these,
that always produce the best words...
A dark blue cursing my eyes into a negative state...
your lips can never taste mine even though i know...
Sitting aimlessly near the window panes
Familiar thoughts run across my mind...
Oh no, this "poem" was terrible.
Oh no, this "poem" was terrible...
The erasers on my desk,
keep staring me down hard...
Let them burst behind your eyes,
those color splashes that explode...
Trying so hard,
Just to fit in...
The hairy legs,
And poisonous fangs...
The streets are filled,
With crowded spaces...
The knife,
With its blade so sharp...
I grab my razorblade
Slitting my wrists really deep...
My eyes paced around that waiting room
Eyeing bodies, broken bones...