i'm bent over, sickened by my disgusting appeal,
worried and selfcentered from the way that i feel
defenceless and selfish, and eager to die
when theres people who suffer from an unwritten genocide
and theres kids on the streets, whose parents dont meet
the criteria set forth as a responsible adult,
and i'm deadlocked for words, because it is plainly my fault
the vomit that spews, at the pointed que,
the fears fleet like the heat on the stat,
and the people, they sit in pity and just get more fat
the weight of the world, lays dead on my shoulder
every minuet a statistic, yet the degree just gets more colder
Comments
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I must warn you of something - you know how people say "You're okay in my book" or "In my book, that's no good"? Well, I actually have a book. I say you are pretty good in my book I see poteintal, alot of potential. Keep on writing writing Angie.
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this is interesting, its thought-provoking... it sounds raw, which is a good thing, but i think it could also really benefit from a bit of editing. i like the thoughts of the last line. good work
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