Good girls don’t cut to deep

Watch life spiral down

Years traced in the sand

Intertwined inside your fate

It’s always snowing

In the darkest part of his brain

Where the thoughts are

Written in magic marker

On a cobwebbed wall

3:00 AM is my genius

It’s the only time I can let

The masochist run free

Because Mommy is poetry

Written in a book in a coffee shop

Read by people who pretend to want

To be somewhere else

But yearn to be with the crowd

To show their individualism

So read this.

Read my thoughts through this.

As long as you don’t hate me

For them

I’ll be someone else.