Why would I think you would touch me?
I'm covered in thorns.
Not my fault,
it's the way I was born.
I scare you away,
with every sharp point on my body.
I'm really starting to get sick of saying sorry.
But it's okay,
because you don't want me anyway.
So I'll just wait here,
hoping someday,
someone will remember me.
There is a different version of me that leaks out,
dripping ink on these pages,
hollow and raw,
saying all my thoughts.
A flow of words that may have never left my head,
We need more joy in this world,
we need less of this depressing sense of life,
when everything around us is so beautiful.
But we only look through a gray lens to see it.
I'm looking in the mirror,
I don't match the picture on the screen,
should I be sad or pleased?
One click at a time,
one more scroll,
oops I fell down the rabbit hole.
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