You may view my life as perfect
and I do too when I look at it
from the outside.
But in reality I view my world as a world war
If something is perfect in my life
I somehow make it look like an
old decrepit dried up melting flower
it looks and feels like an old abandon house
waiting to be demolished
to keep the underage kids away
from smashing my already shattered windows
and engraving anymore names to my wall of shame.
"Greg was here" is written all over
as if it were some kind of cult.
Their digging their names into me
to show off to the new comers that decided
to explore my cave of disasters that
they were once there.
No one wants to be forgotten
but in my world, I am.