Writing

I can't write, I can't type,

My internals R in a fight,

The light in my dots, is 2 bright,

N my stretched skin, is flared white.

I don't feel tops, to see youz,

But still want, to be with youz. 

You're fundenental, my writing crew,

I'm jus 2 twisted up, 2 write wiv uz.

U don't want to see the ooze,

From my wounds, seepin thru the gooze, 

Or numeriz cutsiz n bruise, 

All cluz 2 my need, 2 b soothed.

Or the darts in my eyes, 

As I try n fail 2 disguise. 

The pain n anguise inside, 

From a kneecap 2 my ego n pride.

So I sit alone, in my own zone, 

Ignoring constant beeps, on my phone. 

Soon my home won't be my own,

I'm vanished, alone, time wasted in stone.

© 2026 - All Rights Reserved - Robert Reid