The boys are birds. flocking towards the prey, girls. The ones who wade get captured first, though the ones who lie deep in the waters, are never heard.

The girl who couldn’t flirt, stood in the center of the hall.promising smile, style of them all. she talked, don’t get me wrong.but talking is only something,
if he’s  tall, and has reportedly *****
Desperately did she wanna speak. But every peep that she let leak, she said was weak. Because they rarely replied, and she’d get this pain inside. irritable, not friendly at all. Marriage isn’t even an option, when sophomore year she’s already coughing.

Does your head feel it physically.. the lack of breathing from thoughts that rise and fall over the ***? Do your hands feel unused, marks from the pencil that you used in school? Does your heart never get visitors, because the people that have tried have died from the change in weather.

The illness started from your head, to your toes.
You are now dead, and we are foes.

If I wrote you a poem
there would be a rhyme
*but where's the reason?

high and low are one
see the snow has to come from somewhere above
the ground selects a glove
and says batter I'm ready
show me all your love

I feel pretty when he's not around
it's like he's a stonewall
falling on my crown

You will not take me alive for I am too powerful.**

You will take me dead, because you are a coward.