Extra, extra, but is there anything
worth reading?
Skim over my tragic tale
of angst filled dreams.
See my hands covered in
metaphoric blood.
It’s not coming off, I can feel it.
Read her song of
woe and death as she
drifts away for good.
Read his silly poem
of happiness and love.
But she and I know better,
things like that don’t happen to us.