I am the man with verses in his head
without these verses written, I'd be dead.
I'll force a laugh, I'll force a silly rhyme,
a perfect tool, I think, for passing time.
I started bleeding verse in middle school,
a tired loser, rotund and uncool,
but things can change, oh I was loved and lost,
and (natur'lly) by this fucked-up tempest tossed.
I'm in my 20s now, I'm living on,
(and also, by some standards, living wrong)
but I do what I must (and so it goes)
and what will I write next? Nobody knows.
Oh look, a sonnet! but I forced some rhymes.
Thank God I won't hang for that petty crime.
without these verses written, I'd be dead.
I'll force a laugh, I'll force a silly rhyme,
a perfect tool, I think, for passing time.
I started bleeding verse in middle school,
a tired loser, rotund and uncool,
but things can change, oh I was loved and lost,
and (natur'lly) by this fucked-up tempest tossed.
I'm in my 20s now, I'm living on,
(and also, by some standards, living wrong)
but I do what I must (and so it goes)
and what will I write next? Nobody knows.
Oh look, a sonnet! but I forced some rhymes.
Thank God I won't hang for that petty crime.
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still,
an iron lake in my heart
that swallow the fisherman
who try to catch something of worth.
I’m cold.
My bed is empty,
the other pillow is cold.
Midnight again,
I watch stars, sleeping;
tracing constellations that never were,
dreaming dreams that will not be.
Hot once, now cold,
the iron lake devours all.
