A Box Headed Teenager Talking To A Streetlight Poem by Ray Mesa

Much progression, the level engaged into a wild chance
like the world divided, the strings are attached to rats
define me well, well I'm sure you can't pick a personality
three different eyes, a circularization of altered realities
you know big words for such a small fever
you sicken me like the stories and rumors
I'll never make money of words unless i start a religion
love others as love was a lesser feeling, bitterness a distinction
Of words intertwined like the sorrys and thank yous
Thank you for the media, i love to be informed of my debt
Tell the whole damn world of the world i often lose
Much of the masses have a single word that leaps of their chest
I am, I will be, I never was, I, I, I.