A Poem To the Boy That I Hate That Makes Me Smile


The sky is red

This morning,

Like strawberry


Colored razor burns.

There was

A two headed boy,


With eyes like burnt

Holes in a blanket.

Lost between



And rhymes,

He is like a quarter,



And not worth

A great deal.


Nauseated by

The trivial personality,

There are more people


Allergic to him

Than pollen.

He has the kind


Of face that sheep

Must count at night

When they want to die.


He cuts the throats of solders

While they sleep.

He comes in the night like a thief.


He is better off

As fragmented glass

Buried deep blow the ground. 

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