my poem: loney

lonely, lost, cold.

don't go to parents they only scold.

judging by the scars on your arm

i should be up for alarm.

oh my life is a mess.

though i must confess

my life is sort of fair

you aren't judged by your style of hair

whether it's blonde brown or black

it doesn't even matter if it comes out your back

oh don't cry little girl.

i'd do anything if i could.

just to stop you from hidding under you coat hood.

you don't have to eat that moldy pear.

if you want i'll take you to my lair.

you'll eat food better than bread

and sleep in a nice warm bed

its distance is less than a mie

though i'll have to keep your details in a file.