x-Mercy-Dimwit-x

I've written six and a half stanzas of pure drivel. They don't bushel in quivering golden heads like corn in spring or a hundred tiny swimmers with shivering legs. They're meant to tell you you've done okay well, in truth they're to tell you happy birthday but moreover I wrote them to say that actually you're pretty swell. I didn't use similes to show your effect, I could have said you were like a travelling quartet who visit once a month and make the air thinner and knit up our insides ready for winter I did attempt to show what you had taught that I could be more than others said I ought to be, that by your own aspirations I su

i'm a bit of a mess i'm half of a joke i'm the top of an egg, i'm a third of a yoke i'm a third of a joke, i'm half of an egg, i've got this mess all in my head i'm bad at jokes, my heads in a mess, my eggs overcooked, i'm not into sex my sexuality's a joke, too often it's made, my eggs don't work, though i'm not dismayed a woman in love is a beautiful thing i'll never get that because death's lost it's sting i don't know we'll see the whole things a mess it's a yoke i'll carry and miss out on sex at least with my friends only half of them make jokes i don't get lonely too much i hope it's a hoax i hope it's a test God's Sun