Bread Mold (Cold Cillia) Poem by Ray Mesa

I got a dark freckle on my face
And every day I look into the mirror
That damn mirror fills me up with such resent and hate
I just stare blankly and glower
I hate who I am outside
I got such a ugly side
Such a dirty and filthy, unplesent and pitifull side
But there's a light inside
a tunnel with no ends
I can either kill myself
or kill everyone else

And I ain't your type baby girl, Sorry your type is douche bags
And just maybe girl, you'll land on the keg
when the drugs and beer hit your sense
Spit swallow and rinse
why walk the green mile when you can just go a tiny inch
well I guess I should tell you an acute hint
Little mute girl
If you ever want to survive this world
you got to lean into the blow
and relieaze you are nothing

I'm just a mess I guess
A hopeless disgrace and should be left alone
I ain't got no place, No place but home
There is no place for a mess like me
So lock me in a padded room
The white bed will be my bride
And I am the runnaway groom

Leave me in a mirror room
Rooms with a lighter and a whine glass of gasoiline
Let me watch my face forever
Let me watch this god damn shame
If I am nothing, And If your're everything
then what does that make everyone else
just dust and bones
Molding bread crums