This isn't a poem
Just wanted to write because bored
And sore, lying on the floor
Serial killers outside my bedroom
Would help but i don't like violence
Seeing people get violated isn't my problem
I'll be talking to the cops tomorrow
Screaming sorrow flourished all over the outside walls
She's yelling at God for doing this to her
She jumps on the sofa
I looked through the crack of my door drinking soda
I'm not in the mood for this
I shut the doors and closed the blinds
Finding myself on my dark side
I never wanted to find a way out
I like this routine, my routine
Of being a low self-esteem teen
Youve got to know I'm feeling low
I can't go
This figure in the room came to me and said
"What did the creator say?"
I didn't know what was happening
I passed out from the threatening deafening in my mind
Battling through the wars, crying to hide my scars, far ways to the designation
I'm falling lower and lower, deeper and deeper into the pit of darkness
Fire blazes in the room
Longer it takes me to move
Higher and higher than the moon
Standing upside down,my stomach is inside out
Gravity is broken
I have a pounding headache
"What did the creator say?"