No, This Is Hell

The diverse Hell passes by,
A stream of color before my eyes.
Your preps, your populars,
Jocks, and goths.
Misfits hide within the corner,
Discussing Batman at age sixteen.
And here i sit, alone,
With naught a friend to show.
My poetry my only
Friend.
In the lunchroom,
You hear teens chatter.
"Don't be a b!tch!"
"Don't talk to me like like that!"
"Hey, did you get your Spanish done?"
The only word sto leave my lips
Are my gentle
Lonely
sobs.
I am alone.
Even when you said
You would never leave
me.
And I
can't
let
go.





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