A-literate Author

saw my college mate who went to oxford post about some cool pretentious oxford shit,

then got to bitter i returned to my flashcards,

i often wonder about a world where i didn't burn out so soon,

or was nurtured to a place where my only worry at home was hegarty maths,

and not angry stepdads through a revolving door,

straight from the streets into my home,

stealing my study time with their screams,

For a website I'd never see again,

It meant so much to me,

Paralyzed by tiny details,

Wide eyes, could never decide.

No teddy sat at my headboard,

For if a single on fell off the stack at the bottom,

Or be elevated to a higher station,

Relapse central station,

That way they'd understand my grief,

The mourning,

to a hit of pen and a scroll of reel,

but I am tired, sore, out of time, and cannabis,

so I'm just going to snuggle up,

cry a little more as a treat,

and then doze off in a weepy daze hopefully .

Like when your mum whoops your ass so hard you cry for an hour,

She's just all coke and hairdye now,