He writes poetry
But no one knows
He writes poetry
He writes about love
And loss
He writes about smiles
And frowns
He writes about sorrow
And forgotten towns
He writes about how lost he gets
Caught up in his own mind
He writes poetry to
And about others
But no one knows
Know one knows the depth of his soul
Because they all choose to see the exterior
And that exterior screams
Preppy
And preppy
Don't have souls
Or so they thought
Until the day he was consumed
By his own poetry