Oh shit.
Fuck fuck fuck.
Was that me?
Or was that you?
Listen to me again you goddamned idiot
It wasn't meant to be serious
But you went off on the deep end
And now your on your knees weepin'
Can't tell if your crying yourself to sleep and
Worrying how to deepen
Your fuckin' sleepin'
You hope.
What day is it?
When did it go down?
How did I do it?
Fuck, what is that sound?
Bloodstained fingernails
Not knowing what properly entails
But you know you pulled her entrails
Thinking back to the incels
Who can't tell
Whether or not your going to hell
But fuck it, go call that dude Tyrell
Oh shit don't check the mail
I know you got a lot of shit to tell
But I think right now it's time to sell
Some bullshit story to the media trail.
Who are you?
Fox Five my ass.
Get off my property.
Did you get that meathead
Did you understand what he said
Just play dead
Maybe they'll refrain from shooting lead
But you can't just sit and pretend
Oh wait
They're still outside?
Fuck
Are those sirens?
YOU ARE READING
Dreams Over Reality
PoetryA compliation of poems and skits. The skits are no longer being continued. Most poems are about me and the events around me. Read my story This is my story.
