Tin cans and primordial air,
As I played with my favorite Kentucky shirt.
Right ear and left ear,
Crescendo, upbeat gags.
I kill myself with seventh-grade memories,
Filtered by haunting caress of my so-called friends,
From the deep-rooted scars in my system.
Gradual tempo
From A to Z
Skip these freaking letters,
For they shout my tears.
Still playing?
I speak me
As they devour my brain
Tracing my back with scorching knives
I loathe all of you genius,
Silent I.
Friend is my demons,
Traumatic fallen angel.
Then born my bohemian,
I stand with my pronoun you bludgeoned to disgrace.
Can I.
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