poor old me,
washed up on shore
to find meaning,
but met only calamity.
suffer a little more,
suffer at the hands of
prolific writers
who never wrote a single line
that made a world of difference.
but i'm leaving the cap
on this box,
the covering that seems to hide
all the pain i wish away inside.
i'm innocent,
or at least i look it...
but you're crooked and
you fucking know it.