I have no friends,
and my family,
they *******,
hate me.
I don’t know why,
I ****,
at least he thinks,
I’m lovely.
The world,
I feel like,
is against me,
it doesn’t even,
know me.
It keeps on,
spinning wildly,
I just,
get dizzy.
It really makes,
me sick,
I just want,
to quit.
I feel like,
I might *****,
as I stay inside,
this closet,
at least she thinks,
I’m lovely.
I don’t know,
who they are,
they really like,
my car.
Even though,
I *******,
wrecked it,
straight into,
their heart.
But hey,
at least they think,
I’m lovely.
My smile,
it’s kinda,
crooked.
A child’s drawing,
my right eye,
rounder than,
the other.
I’m slightly wonky,
my legs aren’t,
straight,
but at least,
I know,
I’m lovely.

I like,
the lipstick,
that stains,
your cigarettes.
And how,
you carry,
the scent,
of lavender,
and incense.
The imprints,
of your teeth,
are left on,
my heart,
after you,
took a bite,
last night.
Did you,
keep it?
Or trash it,
like all,
the rest?

I sit,
in a field,
of daffodils,
while you,
make wishes,
on dandelions.
Like blowing bubbles,
your dreams,
float away,
some like,
seeds,
they land,
growing roots,
to hold onto.

A bright,
ray of,
sunshine.
Here to,
burn your,
face.
I leave,
your skin,
red,
and shoulders,
scabbed.
Even through,
clouds,
I penetrate,
your clothes.
Temperatures high,
celsius soaring,
you peel,
me off,
weeks later.
But I’m,
right around,
the corner.
A delightful,
ray of,
sunshine,
here to,
burn your,
*******,
face.

Once,
I fell in love,
with a ghost,
which wasn't,
as much,
a mistake,
as it was,
a mystery.
She promised,
she would,
always,
be there,
but by habit,
she faded away,
gradually.
As I screamed,
begged,
pleaded.
I couldn't,
grab her hand,
it wasn't really,
ever there.
That was when,
I fell in love,
with a ghost,
but she didn't,
fall for me.

Like a moth,
to a flame,
you draw me in,
or is it,
insane?
I burnt,
my wings,
getting too close,
to you.
Scalding myself,
from the heat,
of your chest,
I ignite within,
a new addiction,
I inhale,
and huff,
you in.
Tasting that of,
cinnamon,
and cherries,
with a knotted stem.
You grow lavender,
in the pocket,
of your,
jeans.
I doze,
into enchanted,
dreams.

Maybe,
you’re right,
I’m just,
a sad,
pathetic,
oh woe is me,
little thing.
My half sized,
brain,
could never,
begin to,
comprehend,
such a thing.
It must be,
the size,
no,
smaller,
than a pea.
Because you,
you are,
OBVIOUSLY,
right,
right?
I mean,
who else,
could be?
Surely,
no way,
in hell,
Me.