Faces, faces,
faces
I hate.
Walk past the window
She’s late.
Small town world.
As they stare
The poison grasps my throat
And I choke.
In this puzzle, I am the shape that does not fit
They watch; hunt me with their eyes, their eyes,
Their laughter, the killer smiles
My hand raw from where I tear
At my own body
To escape. Escape From Here.
Small town world.
It’s me they hate.
I’m not sure I can forgive my friend
For being this late.
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.05 seconds at 2:13am on Nov 25, 2024 via server WEBX1.