Xxxtentacion Poem by Ghost Legend

We tend to go, us real ones, the souls.
One way or another, they have us all.
We're either drunk or bleeding on a floor,
Both unexpected drowsiness, lessons
No one ever learns.
For we're unwanted, can't have its,
Phantoms with no operas, no standing
Ovations, patience, makers, vacations,
Just alterations, adulterations,
Negligence and everything else
That makes of a person a demon
In a world of reluctant heathens.