I only read out of a sense of longing
It never fulfills
So I read less and less
Of the poets I love
I love less and less
Of the people I know
Of people I knew
Of myself
I hate more
The walls need
to have holes stomped in them
My grammar and structure
Need to go **** themselves
You need to listen
And quit being a *******
And I need to call Papa
He's my favorite man
We haven't talked for months
When he dies,
That's when I'll do the stomping
I'll be more alone
Even though he barely knows me