melting into the disordered thoughts in my head there sat a dusty, stained boy's decomposing body there he sits, alone in the clutter piled miles high
is this how i die ? dead in my own damn bed ? it doesn't help that i constantly stare , looking groggy god how i wish i could buy more time just to cry
i miss being joyful, without a hint of red in my eye from crying and whinnying not to be so squabbly how i wish the clutter and fog would just die
along with that boy's mummy, i wish instead for a clear, untainted head, full of —
nothing, for i would have nothing to fear.
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this is an elegy about myself . critique is a-ok .
