I meditated on the idea
Of us seeing other people
A boy who will touch me
With fingers like barbed wire
A girl with a shy smile
Who is a thousand times easier to love
And I hate her with a passionate rage
Why can't I be like her
That *****

they play a different tune,

yet i can still sing it. they ask

for a melody, i found

i can  sing that too.



badly.



make it up generally, is

what we do here, it is

mostly acceptable, except

when it is not, yet i  don’t

often hear about that.



they wish i write different,

yet i do not.



i listen to john rutter.



sbm.

I've heard that sitting in silence is peaceful and relaxing.

All I can hear are her screams of regret.

Since I've left my body have I since gone on a better way?
In this mess of nothingness, and don't get me wrong,
I assume all fault
is there any good at all that I could save?
What more am I than a hunk of meat
who fills its holes with food and drink
and drugs and barely thinks past any day but today?
I'm nothing.