i wish i felt how i did last week, im a delicate piece of anxiety and sadness, im having a pity party for me, me, me, i'll feel embarrassed about this tomorrow, i'll feel im better tomorrow, but just when the last brick is laid, and my castle of confidence is complete it will turn to cards and melt in the rain. And the cycle will repeat, repeat, repeat.

the grey cement oozes out of my ears, soon it will solidify with my fears, the dopey suffocation has forced me to do the cliche and write poetry. Probably about something sad or melancholy. I feel the clasp of consuermism when I put products in my metal trolly, this poem has no point and is purely out of boredom, maybe someone would like me if I wrote one for them, the thought makes me cringe so maybe im born to be lonely, shrouded in doubt, happy and sad, lean as a bean, trajic symptoms of a teenager. Life feels like another language without subtitles, English is for the ignorant which is why mine is broken. The cement is comfortable now, it keeps me cozy, sorry but I'm feeling nosey, would you like to have sexual relations with me, I mean go on a date with me, I was joking about that last bit, I didnt really mean it, but I guess you didnt feel it, or feel anything but disgust because now you're four feet away holding a kitchen knife like yo're about to kill me, or maybe kill yourself because I know you have been thinking about it, and dont worry about it everyone does sometimes, but maybe if you start to love yourself you will start to hear the chimes of life. Okay that did sound cheesy but try to take it easy, you're only young life usually sucks for those under twenty one, in fact life usually sucks for those who aren't 6 feet under, pushing up daisies for the children to pick when they play in the fields.