His eyes are blue even though they're as black as a rainy night I look at him and feel the rot inside my chest, the imperfections of my habits I lie bare before him and he watches with care and says you are the moon of my night
My colors are changing into **** shades of pink and the nausea is kicking in but wait hold on, stay right there it'll get better? worse? what am I dragging you in this for? Exit please. Oh yes, the colors they change when the sky dampens late after lunch too soon after dinner while I belch my mother walks by as she tells me to pull my **** together, oh the good old days haven't gone past me just yet I sometimes think of my father and how I should try loving him for smiling at me and calling my mother a ***** while I tried hard to sleep Sometimes I think I love my mother way too much so much that I try to socialize and then I somehow realize that was an ouch idea Pessimism is more honest because the optimist is lying to everyone.