My god is something
of a heartbreaker.
He’s a little
vain and loves
to flirt.
We call him Black Dahlia,
because he can make all
the girls
smile.

They call me
a good guy,
a nice guy,
a sweet guy,
that’s the mask I wear.

They said I’d only get hurt,
but masks don‘t have feelings,
they can‘t get hurt.

Funny how human beings work; they do nothing
to create something good, but they do everything
to stop a good thing from being destroyed.

I’m tired
So very tired,
I liked it better when I couldn’t feel anything.

Some people are
book.
Beautiful and complex from start to finish,
passing on they’re story to the next
generation.
While others are bathroom
wall scribbles like:

“hank was here”