by Stephen Sweitzer
Every hour, I go insane,
Diving into the greatest pain,
Only they can understand,
Giving me their helping hands,
Normal people use their brooms,
Sweeping us into lonely rooms,
Not until they lick our blood,
Will they see our filthy mud,
Which runs through our rotten brains,
Forever and ever, we are insane.
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Long story short, I was born in 1998 in Russia, adopted by an American family, and taken to Ohio.
Last updated June 21, 2015