Why do I sit here,
While the pencil sharpener is melting?
And the TV chord is constriction.
I don’t move.
even though my body defuse
In this damn concentration camp
called school
Where the books hop
Wishing they were my pen.
Simply because I’m imploding.
Who’s gunna save me?
Pagan is your god.
The page eats your toothpaste
and asks you,
Whats your favorite?
No comments:
Post a Comment