In a congested store,
there were dozens of you.
Drooping pants with
patterns of leaves and woods.
Tousled hair, insanity wrapped
around your irises.
On the ride home, in a
perfectly unassailable
neighborhood, you were there.
That’s him, I spoke, fear filling
the inside and coating the
outside. He’s here.
Why do people glamorize this
ghastly feeling?
He may be devouring pills,
swatting at nonexistent flies,
but what about us?
**He was a magnanimous
boy! A good kid who steered
in the wrong direction.**
But why did the effects of his
crash **** me? What the hell did
I do to deserve such panic?
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 8:19 PM UTC
In a congested store,
there were dozens of you.
Drooping pants with
patterns of leaves and woods.
Tousled hair, insanity wrapped
around your irises.
On the ride home, in a
perfectly unassailable
neighborhood, you were there.
That’s him, I spoke, fear filling
the inside and coating the
outside. He’s here.
Why do people glamorize this
ghastly feeling?
He may be devouring pills,
swatting at nonexistent flies,
but what about us?
**He was a magnanimous
boy! A good kid who steered
in the wrong direction.**
But why did the effects of his
crash **** me? What the hell did
I do to deserve such panic?
