How does it feel when Romeo’s blood falls on your shirt?
What didn’t kill you, didn’t make you stronger- it made you hurt
Putting yourself back together in pieces like classic Frankenstein
The stares of those the same read a cold warning to get in line

Not worth your rocketing weight in beauty or a brain
Under the soft heart of a fairytale mind- a bitter break and sprain
A child’s tea set, never admitting to the fragile type of broken
Going and taking the cracked, misplaced and left token

Don’t know why you’re mad, bulls would throw in the hat
But you stay far too stubborn, too mulish for defeat like that
You stare the peril of a hellish concrete jungle in the face
But at a touch, crumble like a cookie and frail like limp lace

The people, the ones that walk up-right, unbent as a board
Chilling enough, faces like pistol’s triggers can strike a sour chord
Cocking your weapons and burliest bombs, encasing, closing in
Around something to precious for the vandalizing of simple sin

What good is saying something if not to be heard? You don’t.
Superiors say not to waste treasured breath, so you won’t.
Instead you glide through the world, a Harper Lee mockingbird
Utter, never. Not a single useless, pointless whisper of a word