i feel very extra sometimes…
    
    i feel very used sometimes…

            i feel like a dandelion when it wears its’ coat of fluff…
        
    people pick me up and admire then

******* away, forgetting about

me until i plant my seeds for the next bloom…

            more and more and more of me spread,
            
    too many places i am in now.

i’ve been blown too far, so i cannot
    
    find myself among the flowers.  i am just

            a **** that only people with childish innocence

    would bother gazing upon and

and i wish that i could just die.
    
                i feel very extra sometimes
                                and i wither with grief.