I'm
Trying
My
Best.

Crying
In
My
Car
But
Doing
It
Well.

I say I want to write a book
But all I really want to do
Is get high
Make little observations
Type them into my phone
And call it a poem

Don't wait for someone else
to create the light
at the end of the tunnel.
Do it yourself,
whether you use the end of a cigarette
or a torch,
let a little flame
that you made
lead you out of your misery.

There's a tear in my soul
And the stuffing's falling out
Surprised you're not surprised
I was never real
Eyes of glass
Heart of gold
My flesh is made from silicone
Imperfect, blemishes and wrong
Hands are cold
Warm as stone
I was never real
Yet I still feel alone
I need this lie
To bleed itself out
And cut through this flesh
Of silicone

"And you,
my dear lady,
are the poem.
I just give it voice."

oh, but look at what grew

all because of the dirt
that they once threw