Converses, hoodies, skinny jeans.
Is this all they see?
Eyeliner, nails black, a cold stare.
Just because I am being me?
Depression, diary, cutting slowly.
I wish I wasn't so strange.
Lonely, black hair, tripping to a fall.
Friends...wait, what are they?
No one ever seems to stay.
Guns, suicide, soon to die.
Would anyone even cry? ...
I suppose not.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
.......................oh dear!