Status:
In Progress |
Genre: Poetry |
House:
Booksie Classic
No, no doctor, I don't qualified, is just a joke, a screen
You see, I tried, I called, I cursed
Still, I don't qualify, it was made to show the media
That something was being done for us, it's a lie, another lie
For them to escape the punch, the over heat pressure
Dear doctor, all I had was excuses, maneuvers to move me out
I did try, but trying gave me one more headache for my records
Trying is like making nonsense, like doing nothing, for them is a game
For me, for us, more practical jokes, and then some, some more, more.
© Copyright 2018 Juli Monat. All rights reserved.
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