The Day Before I Went To The Mental Hospital I Wrote: What Makes Me Curl Up In A Ball: A List Of

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The Day Before I Went To The Mental Hospital I Wrote: What Makes Me Curl Up In A Ball: A List Of Sorts By Jason Bartlett God protect the young angel. I can tell that some people have never felt real happiness. They have just felt money, and the joy of greed. I'm not afraid to show you off, I'm afraid to show myself. I see the world through the eyes of a newborn. As we get older we become more conscious of others being aware of us. Eventually we just fade away. I never touch my face because it feels like my beard will fall off. Things I can never be, bumblebee in my mind, keep me awake at white collar dawn. Someone said that I write love poems even though the love shatters into a million pieces, the seeds of which make flowers grow, but…show more content…
I wish for streets made of ice and for all the dapper boys to stare at me. We eat Zesta crackers in the mental hospital. Poetry has it's claws in me, and I wish it was something you could quit, because I'm addicted to it. Is there a poetaholics anonymous? I made a vow to myself to never see my extended family again, until I feel like my beard won't fall off. And so far, I'm falling forever. I look for the perfection in everything, but what really messes up my screwed up timeline, is that I look for perfection in people and I haven't found any. I'm never sure about anything, my mind changes like traffic lights, I never know what to do with money, and I'm afraid it will dissapear, nobody at all deserves, all humans have a war side. How am I supposed to know if you'd help thy neighbor? Pay it forward it a load of horse shat. Though I like the movie not the concept. Nobody ever does it. I'm real harsh because I've never seen a miracle. I realize children are the smartest among us, and they have no way to be heard. I'm more lonely than a desert. Impossible dream of two men laying on a cliff, holding hands. And happiness, flood their house until it suffocates them, til' death do we part. The rest of the fireplace smoke, signals and bets to heaven until the last wispy grey sends a message to humanity. Somebody Someday by Jason Bartlett I feel like I am somebody, not that I will be somebody someday. I used to

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