Going Mental

Poems

// SLIGHT BLOOD WARNING//

People, all people

Loath me.

Everyone, everyone and anyone 

Avoids me.

Sectioned away from

Everyone there is and can be

Sometimes I think,

"Exactly, why?"

No one can tell me

Don't, just don't, die

Hate is a strong word, 

Every word is, too

Leave me or don't,

Please just stay true.

                            ~B

No POV

"Toilet, can you please throw away all this junk mail?" MePhone groaned, flipping through multiple papers. "Some weird person who doesn't even spell out their full name keeps sending us poems. It's always signed with a B or something. Plus the poems are always, like, super depressing and stupid. And corny, too." He snarked, passing a stack of papers back to Toilet. "Righty-o, sir! When would you like me to pick up the children from daycare?"

MePhone swiveled his chair around, shaking his head. "No, no. I'm sending MePad to get them. I need you here." Toilets calm expression grew into a large and goofy grin. Feeling needed made him feel...ecstatic! 

"On it, Mistah Phone!" He smiled happily, flipping through the poems as he exited MePhones room. His eyes scanned through the papers when he suddenly pause on one poem. He stopped in the middle of the hallway, reading through the one thoughtfully. "Hey...I wouldn't call these junk," He stated to no one in particular, "They're sort of nice." He hummed softly, folding a few of the poems he liked up and stuffing them into his pocket. 

His slow walked turned into a skip as he made his way into the room he had been staying in, shoving the door open and tossing the rest of the poems on the ground. He didn't want to admit it, but at the time he truly wasn't in the mood to do anything. Not even something for MePhone. Perhaps today was just...just a day for him to relax. That would be a first for him, but hey, there's a first for everything isn't there?

Toilet plopped himself down onto his beanbag, sitting on his phone. He texted a few people, trying to waste a bit of time. After an hour or so, though, he got beyond bored, and rolled off of his beanbag onto the floor as he groaned.

He happened to roll onto another poem he hadn't bothered to get rid of yet. Right, he still had to do that. 

He read through the poem, suddenly perking up at...something about it. He wasn't sure what exactly, but...but something about it wasn't right. The title was...vague.

Who I Want

Trusting